


The way I love you

by merrythoughts, ReallyMissCoffee



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Domestic, Emotional Baggage, Fix-It, Getting Together, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Sam Wilson Is a Good Bro, Sexual Tension, Sweet, You Know What I'm Talking About, soft
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-09-05 19:27:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 26,082
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20278564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/merrythoughts/pseuds/merrythoughts, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReallyMissCoffee/pseuds/ReallyMissCoffee
Summary: By the time they're back in the kitchen, the lemonade in his hand, Bucky feels more at ease. It's not that the house is familiar, and it's not because he knows the tactical exits. It's because the housefeelslike Steve. It smells like him, even if it is faint. It feels like safety."It's good. So is this where you'll be?" Bucky glances at him. "Now that you've passed on the shield. Is this it? Gonna dig a garden out front?"[When you refuse to acknowledge Endgame's ending for these boys - you diverge and fix-it ♥]





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Because Steve and Bucky both deserved better than what Endgame canonically gave 'em, so here we are...
> 
> And a big whoo hoo & welcome to ze wife for finally being trash and getting into this fandom with me. >:D
> 
> **Disclaimer**: This is another merrythoughts & ReallyMissCoffee production. In case you don't know us, just a heads up: this is written first and foremost as an alternating roleplay between us which doesn't necessarily translate smoothly into an easily digestible or traditional fic format. 
> 
> At times we can be pretentious, repetitive and annoyingly wordy, but we're not going to change so please forgo any "constructive criticism" regarding the format. We are choosing to share our work and if you like it, you like it, if not, press the back button and try something else as we have no interest in attempting to fic-ify our stories.

One by one, Steve will return the Infinity Stones. It's no easy task - most important things aren't - but he isn't about to mess up other timelines and lives for _their _happier ending. He can't risk the stones staying here either. Steve can't let himself rest, can't let himself find solace in his friends who are back from the dead, because the stones are bad business all around. He'll do whatever it takes to set things right.

It hardly seems believable that they pulled off the infamous "time heist," but the proof is here. The Vanished are miraculously back and alive, Thanos and his army are gone, but the memories still remain. Steve doesn't want to forget either because Thanos' snap had shaken Steve Rogers to his very core. 

Because Steve had always believed that he'd get to a point where he'd be able to have time with Bucky - time to confess his feelings, time to really stop and breathe and take more than a moment to enjoy their crazy luck at being alive nearly a century later. Time to exist in each other's space like they used to.

But missions and conflicts kept cropping up. After the wreckage on the Potomac, he'd searched high and low for Bucky, but it had turned up nothing substantial. And then Steve's own life became topsy turvy with the Accords and subsequent fallout. Despite those numerous consequences, if given another chance, Steve would have acted the same because protecting Bucky had felt unquestionably _right_. It had been the kind of right that fuelled him, that filled him with invigorating purpose and a clear direction - the kind of right where Steve would get up again and again no matter what or who came at him.

His friendship with Tony crumbling had been regrettable (and thankfully, before the end, it had been mended). But Bucky had been worth it - the _truth _had been worth it. And Steve had understood why Bucky opted to go back into the cryo chamber - to go back to sleep - but it had felt like another chance being snatched away from him. It's like they just couldn't catch a break.

T'Challa had been in contact and the news of Shuri and the doctors being able to help Bucky had been a tremendous relief to Steve. He'd wanted to return to Wakanda immediately, but he'd been cautioned - Bucky needed time to heal and adjust - and then Thanos had come upon them like a blight. They'd shared a hug before marching off to yet another war, and once again, Steve had told himself that they would have time _after_.

Just one more fight, just one more battle...

And then Bucky had vanished into dust before his very eyes and the loss of defeat had been utterly crushing. Sam? Wanda? Vision? The list had been too long, the memorial stones plenty... The years after, they honestly feel like a blur of trying to move on, trying to help and do whatever he could to ignore the dull ache, until Scott Lang had shown up on their doorstep and given them a booster shot of hope.

Tony, Nat... It's by no means a perfect ending. A lot of blood has been spilled and he knows that humanity is still reeling from everything, but he's just one man and he doesn't know how to fix those problems.

Buck and Sam have grown closer and the sight of their ease is complicated. It's first Sam he tells about his little plan, and once the shield is passed on, Steve tells Bucky.

Steve has an acre of land a few hours away from civilization with a homey cabin on it. It's secluded and simple and he's bringing Bucky with him. He says it's just for the weekend, but Steve is hoping for longer than that (but he'll take whatever he can get). Hopeful, Steve buys enough supplies to last them a few weeks.

He's waiting on the wrap-around porch when he hears Sam's vehicle take a turn onto the gravel road leading up to his place. When the Jeep pulls up and parks, Steve offers a small wave and, knowingly, Sam just grins but doesn't get out.

Bucky gets out though, a backpack with him and Steve tries to swallow down his nerves. He's not going to risk losing any more chances, but this isn't something that he's willing to rush. 

* * *

Rebuilding an entire life from less than nothing will never be an easy experience, but all things considered, Bucky thinks he's finally doing okay. He'll never be the man he was. Some days he remembers flickers of new memory and has to stop and stand where he is, searching his mind for how he could have responded in certain ways, or how he could have _ever_ felt joy like his memory whispers that he had. But despite the unsteadiness in his own mind and the lessening gaps in his memory, Bucky's not going to look this gift horse in the mouth. Not now. 

He'd died. For him, it hadn't really felt like much - it hadn't really been the first time in his perception - but the way he hears it from the other Vanished, it had hurt like Hell, or been terrifying. That's one thing that Bucky feels grateful for; he can't remember a time that he wasn't used to pain. In theory, anyway. He can remember Sergeant James Barnes, but it's like a movie in his mind. Vivid at times, but disconnected. 

It's clearly been harder on the other people. The ones Left Behind. Bucky almost feels guilty, living in this world. He hadn't really established a place for himself _before_ T'Challa had answered Steve's call to arms, and aside from the small, quaint life he'd set up around him for those few months, it hadn't taken any twisting of his new arm to follow Steve into battle. Which means that - unlike the other people who had vanished - Bucky hadn't had any expectations of what he'd come back to. His life has always been one bout of uprooting connected to the next. He survives. He adapts. It's who he is.

But the others aren't so lucky. 

It's Sam who winds up taking him in, in the end. The Avengers mourn the fallen, and Bucky feels a small ache at the thought of Natasha, and guilt claws at him when he thinks of Stark, but the dead usually stay dead and he knows when to take a step back. Sam's broken up over Natasha, and so is Steve, but Bucky doesn't see much of him as the weeks pass. He stays with Sam and they eventually break through a few notable awkward silences and start _talking_, and it's odd, how Bucky finds himself making a connection he never would have thought himself capable of. 

Then Steve passes on the shield after delivering the stones. Honestly Bucky hadn't expected him to come back, and after all Steve's given up, he wouldn't have blamed him. Steve deserves something for himself. Something good. But instead of staying, instead of living an actual life and leaving Bucky to rebuild his own, Steve comes back and Bucky... he thinks he might know what joy feels like again, just a bit.

Sam drives Bucky down to Steve's cabin the next day. It's a bit of a drive, but Sam's trying to 'educate' Bucky on more modern music (which, to Bucky, all sounds the same) and so the time passes quickly. But it doesn't stay like that. Because the second that the cabin comes into view and Bucky sees Steve standing outside of it, time slows down to a crawl and he's aware of every second as he climbs out of Sam's Jeep and gives him a small wave.

Sam rolls down the window with a grin. "You two behave yourselves. Don't do anything that I wouldn't do." Then the Jeep pulls out and Sam drives off, leaving Steve and Bucky standing on ground that looks too rustic to be real.

Bucky spares the property a small glance and tries not to focus on the calculated side of his brain that instinctively locates exits and vantage points. Shuri had done a great job with the trigger words, but Bucky doesn't think the extent of HYDRA's programming will ever go away.

"Steve," is all he says in greeting, shoving the thoughts away as he walks over. Bucky lifts his non-vibranium arm immediately, reaching out and pulling Steve into a quick, one-armed hug. It feels way too damn small, but they've got time. They've _finally _got time, and suddenly it feels like there's a damn hand around his throat, squeezing tight. It's been too long.

* * *

Sam is a both a great guy and a great friend. Steve is pretty damn thankful for him stepping up to befriend Bucky and keep an eye on him because there hadn't had much time between dealing with Tony's death and needing to go over the necessary details in returning the stones. The idea that all three of them could legitimately be friends and hang out may seem odd, but Steve can see it happening in the near future. It's something Steve knows that he's looking forward to, but it's on the backburner at the moment.

Now, Bucky is his priority, but the prospect of having uninterrupted time - even if only for a few days - seems both daunting and like a dream. Not being on the run? Not needing to complete any sort of mission? Them not on the battlefield? It's a breath of fresh air - a relief - and Steve isn't quite sure how to process it. It's been decades since they've had such a thing together. There's so much to say, so much to do, and Steve doesn't know where to start. The fear of taking some kind of misstep is very real.

Steve doesn't like this uncertainty.

He's always been good at giving the pep talks and delivering the inspiring speeches, but he's silent as Bucky makes his way over, simply marveling that Bucky is here at all. Steve's heart beats quicker in his chest and before he can think of what to say (because anything is better than nothing) it's Bucky who pulls him into a hug, no questions asked and nothing needs to be said.

It's instinctual to wrap both of his arms around Bucky and pull him closer. This embrace isn't quick and friendly like their last few hugs. Not this time. Steve holds Bucky tightly, their bodies pressed close and he doesn't let go. 

"Hi Buck," Steve finally says, his voice thick with restrained emotion. It doesn't feel like enough - how could this be enough? It has to be enough. For now. 

Only after a squeeze does Steve let Bucky go and take half a step back, a smile on his face. "I'm glad you're here."

* * *

Bucky intends for the hug to be quick, a greeting over anything else. It doesn't feel like it's enough but it'll be enough to keep him going until the worst of... whatever this is passes. Steve's body is unfamiliar to him, which he understands on principle, but there's a small voice in the back of his mind that protests the unfamiliarity. Bucky shuts it down, as he's getting better at doing to intrusive thoughts. He prepares himself for the quick hug that he intends, and so he's completely unprepared for the way that _both_ of Steve's arms suddenly come up and wrap around him.

For a moment, something inside of him tenses, some old programming that details the moment as _restraint_ and _danger_, but before anything can activate, Bucky finds himself relaxing into the hug. It's _Steve_. His arms might not be thin and sharp, and his chin might not dig into Bucky's shoulder anymore, but it's _Steve_. Bucky only hesitates for a second before he curls his hand into the back of Steve's shirt and then leans in closer, reaching out to wrap his other arm around his friend.

He can feel the pressure at his shoulder, can feel where the arm becomes him, but he can't feel the press of skin against his metal arm, and that... that will never be easy. Bucky tightens the hug to compensate and while _nothing_ about this is familiar in the physical sense - not really - Bucky knows that this is the only home he needs. After everything that Steve has done for him - everything he'd sacrificed - how could Bucky _not_ feel that way?

The hug ends too quickly, but its duration does give Bucky time to swallow the lump in his throat. It means that when Steve steps back, Bucky reluctantly lets go and even has the strength left in him for a smile back. Maybe he'll never be the man that he was, but Steve still seems to like him just fine. So does Sam. It's all that really matters.

"Glad to _be_ here. Though I gotta say, I never took you for a cabin in the woods type." There's a quicker flash of something like teasing in Bucky's expression. Then he looks around again, trying to _see_ the place as a home, not a tactical advantage. "You wanna show me around a bit?"

* * *

When a vibranium arm wraps around him, honest relief washes over Steve. It's a real hug - something finally substantial and meaningful. And Steve's shared more hugs with a Bucky that had both flesh arms, but that doesn't matter. They're both different men now. Steve may not have the beard or longer hair that he had years ago, but Bucky is still sporting both of those. 

Steve wonders if Bucky prefers his hair at this length or if he hasn't had time to get a haircut. It's not like personal grooming had been much of a priority for Bucky and while living as a fugitive, Steve had been the same way. It had only been after he'd taken up running his weekly conversation groups that he'd decided to shave and get his hair trimmed. It had felt like the right thing to do - to put a cleaner more put together look forward.

It doesn't matter how different Bucky looks or acts. Whatever's changed, be it physical, mental or otherwise - Steve will learn. Whatever Bucky is okay with sharing or showing him, he'll gratefully accept. Despite Steve's own physical transformation, he's never been overly interested in the physical. Steve more than anyone understands that what's inside - the _quality_ of a person - is what truly matters. Bucky had always believed that too.

They're lucky. Damn lucky. Steve has mourned for Bucky too many times in his life. He's not going to let this chance slip away. There's a chance that they don't know each other all that well _now_, but their shared history and their bond? It's lasted this long, through ice and time and even non-existence.

The smiles they give are somewhat brittle, but the fact that they're both _trying _here is honestly heartwarming.

"Well, I enjoy a break from the city when I can," Steve explains with a shrug before gesturing for Bucky to follow him for a tour. 

The deck wraps around the large, one-floor house, with a porch swing out front. Inside is an open concept with nice hardwood flooring, vaulted ceilings with wood beams and plenty of natural lighting from the large bay windows. There's a loft with a ladder leading up to it, and a brick laid fireplace in the living room. There's only one bathroom but two sizeable bedrooms. It's not the largest in square feet, but considering the tiny apartment they had back in the day it's a big step up. It has a few houseplants to add some green, an assortment of furnishings and decorations that aren't too jarring. All in all, it's a nice place without being _too _nice.

Finishing the tour, Steve leads them to the kitchen and pours them two lemonades. "So, hopefully this'll do?"

* * *

They both know that Bucky doesn't need a tour. The cabin isn't that large and if Steve had given him all of ten minutes, Bucky could have scoped out the area and then some. But it's not what people do. Bucky has spent the better part of the last few months (or last few years) re-learning what _people_ do. It still feels like an ill-fitting suit, like that off-the-rack thing he'd needed to buy for his first job interview that had hung off his shoulders like a cape. But the more he does it, no matter how alien it feels, the more he hopes it will become _him_. 

Shuri had been able to do wonders for his coding, and for his health. His mind is still in flux, but he's safe to be around people. Around _Steve_.

So Bucky follows Steve inside. Bucky sets his backpack down by the door and takes his boots off on autopilot. He pauses soon after, Sam's voice echoing in his mind. _Take those off at the door, by the way. No one looks threatening in socks, man._ And as Bucky looks down at his sock-feet, his brittle smile solidifies a bit more.

The cabin feels too small for two grown men but Bucky likes it. He likes that it feels smaller, contained, less empty and echoing. Screams won't bounce off of these walls. And the thought is oddly comforting as he follows Steve, half-looking at the house, but half-watching Steve. 

By the time they're back in the kitchen, the lemonade in his hand, Bucky feels more at ease. It's not that the house is familiar, and it's not because he knows the tactical exits. It's because the house _feels_ like Steve. It smells like him, even if it is faint. It feels like safety.

"It's good. So is this where you'll be?" Bucky glances at him. "Now that you've passed on the shield. Is this it? Gonna dig a garden out front?"

* * *

Steve knows that the tour isn't at all necessary. Given the size and the floor plan of the cabin, Bucky could have easily figured out everything for himself after a little bit of exploring. It's in no way confusing, but Steve definitely doesn't mind doing it. It's an 'ice breaker' is what Steve thinks it is. Steve has been here for a week or so, making sure things were in order for Bucky's visit. He's had this property for a while now - a purchase he'd made a few years after coming out of the ice.

Steve had wanted a quieter place to head out to, a place where he could try and disconnect from the bustling city life, but given the state of things he'd never found the time to use it that much. There had always been too much to do. Sam's been out here, the two of them enjoying the fire pit outside and chatting over beers and burgers. Steve wonders if Bucky'll enjoy doing the same thing. 

As much as they both need this time, the prospect is still daunting because it's been so long since they've had it. There hadn't been much downtime back in the war, and there definitely hadn't been time for any R&R after Steve had found Bucky in Romania. They have a chance now. 

The mention of a potential garden has Steve giving an amused smile. He doesn't think he has much of a green thumb, but it's not out of the question.

"Dunno," Steve answers with a small shrug of one shoulder. "It's nice to get out of the city and I do like it out here, but I'm not making any major decisions." He takes a sip of lemonade. "You like it here?"

* * *

It's a simple question, but it's not a simple answer. Bucky glances at Steve thoughtfully, probably for longer than he should. Then he turns his attention to the glass of lemonade in his hand, colder against his fingertips in a way that he still has to remind himself isn't what most people would call 'normal'. 

It's been hard to reconcile simple human things ever since he'd come back to himself. Ever since he'd been taken off of the ice permanently. At least Bucky hopes it'll be permanent. He tries not to think about the other possibility - that Shuri had missed something, that he'll need to go back on ice someday, maybe permanently. Just living normally can be hard.

Because Bucky doesn't _know_ the answer to Steve's question. Not really. Concepts of what he likes and doesn't like are still coming back to him. He knows when he likes certain _people_, but his tastes are still half-memories, and half-uncertainty. He likes burgers with pickles and mustard, likes the way the sun warms the frost off of the grass when it's just barely breaking dawn, and he likes smaller, secluded places. But those have been built up over the last few years. 

Recovery was never going to _be_ a simple process.

But Bucky tries. He looks around the cabin, at the large bay windows and the dark hardwood under his feet. He looks out at the surrounding area, at the lush forest and the open grounds outside. Nothing tells him to run, or to find a vantage point, and as he looks out at the porch swing out front, he feels... peaceful. 

"Yeah. Yeah, I think I do. I mean... you were never the green thumb type, but if anyone's earned it after all this time, it's you." Bucky lifts the glass of lemonade to his lips and takes a small sip. It's cold and tart and sweet and he thinks he likes it. But when he looks at Steve again, he takes in the ease to his shoulders and the picture he makes, standing in the middle of the cabin. He looks good like this, but... "If you'll let yourself have it, that is."

* * *

A lot of questions seem simple - at least at first. Bucky asks about his future plans and a potential garden and Steve asks if Bucky likes it here. As ready as Steve is for a break, it's still difficult to fully come to grips that he's passed on the shield. For so long being Captain America had been his _thing_. His identity had been so ingrained in serving and fighting - in_ helping_. Of course he's not limited to helping only in those ways, but it's what he's known for. Steve doubts that this so-called retirement will be him laying low the entire time, and he knows that Sam is fully capable.

After everything that's happened, Steve hasn't thought it wise to pester Shuri about Bucky and what all she'd done or didn't do. That intervention had been years ago and however Bucky is now, whatever he remembers and doesn't remember, Steve will work with it. Steve pauses and thinks about pinching himself to check that this isn't a dream.

But Natasha and Tony haven't come back to life and Bucky is here, standing in the kitchen and glancing around the place and likely considering his answer. Steve doesn't hurry him. He soaks up this quiet moment, more than content that Bucky is simply alive and here - Steve feels blessed. And while he'd expected that Bucky would enjoy the place, he still _likes_ hearing it, because if Bucky likes it, maybe Buck will stay longer than just the weekend. 

When Bucky continues, turning the topic back to him, Steve's smile dims a little.

_If he lets himself have it..._

It still amazes him that, after all these years, Bucky still knows him this well. Steve had thought he'd been doing a decent job trying to settle in... A little chagrined, he lifts a hand to scratch at the back of his neck. 

"Tryin' to relax and take it all in, but I think the same could be said for you too, pal," Steve says, his eyebrows lifting a bit. "We both deserve a little peace and quiet."

* * *

Bucky doesn't need to look around the cabin to find his answer. One glance at Steve is all it takes. As, despite the last few years of piecing his own life and memories back together, and Shuri's assistance in eradicating his conditioning, there's only one thing in Bucky's mind that still carries the weight of _knowing_ that had once been his mission and killing: Steve. 

Steve Rogers feels superimposed on Bucky's mind, like a sort of beacon even now. So when Steve's expression shifts slightly, Bucky surprises even himself with the small grin that starts to pull at his lips. He recognizes Steve's sheepish expression even if he's not sure how he recognizes it some days.

It still feels odd, correctly inferring something like that, but if there's one thing that Bucky remembers above all others, it's Steve's inability to just sit around and do nothing while people are suffering. This is no different, and while Steve does gently turn it back on him, Bucky doesn't really connect to the concern. Before Wakanda, Bucky wouldn't have even been able to place the concepts of 'peace and quiet' but now he at least knows that he can settle into it. Even if sometimes it feels like a transition phase, like the calm before the storm. 

At least... it had felt like that in Wakanda. Standing in the kitchen with Steve, a glass of lemonade in one hand, and the distant sounds of nature all around them, it feels a little like it had with Sam, only... different. This peace feels like something that he might be able to settle into instead of something that is merely taking him from one point of time to another. Steve's presence is calming, and Bucky lifts the lemonade to his lips again, taking another drink. He _does_ like it. Maybe the lemonade isn't the only thing he likes.

"Maybe we should try and do that, then," Bucky says, which still seems slightly impossible, but he's willing to try if Steve is. He nods to the window, and to the porch swing outside. At the vast property and the sun turning the grass a vibrant green. 

"Just... show me how? S'been awhile since I handled 'peace and quiet'. Model it for me."

* * *

_Peace and quiet_, like a Brooklyn's sunset when the workers had left the docks and the two of them would sit in each other's company, thigh-to-thigh, simply existing. They didn't even need to necessarily be chatting because they were together and it was familiar and comfortable like your favorite well worn socks that you refuse to throw out despite a few holes. Steve thinks he'd enjoyed those quiet moments with Bucky the best.

Now, the idea of peace and quiet after so much turmoil - the death and rebirth of friends even (but not _everyone_) - it feels almost alien, like the first time Steve had seen the invading ships flying in between New York's buildings. But this is the future he'd woken up into and Bucky's right here with him.

In his kitchen, Bucky seems smaller now, like he's afraid to occupy too much space. But Steve supposes that after everything his friend has been through, Bucky likely prefers to blend in anyway (or is it the Winter Soldier's training that can claim that?). They're both different men than they used to be, and each reunion they've had finds them in a different headspace than before. With interest, Steve watches Bucky look outside.

It's the mentioning of him modeling 'peace and quiet' that now gives Steve some direction (who's he kidding, it's reminiscent of a _mission_). 

"I'm sure we can figure it out together," Steve says and he lifts his glass up, intending to clink them together in a mock toast. 

* * *

Steve isn't mistaken. It's... weird being here, taking up space in a place that isn't vast, open fields filled with goats and children or Sam's smaller studio apartment with too many chairs. It feels almost like a mix between those two places as Bucky stands there, taking in the carefully-built kitchen. It looks modern enough but 'modern' is still a skewed concept for him after so much time on ice, and so much time split between Wakanda and New York. 

In some ways it feels as though Bucky has only dealt with extremes in the past few years. It's either been complete isolation, down one arm, or it's been stocked full of 'modern' amenities with too much shine and not enough heart. But this place is different. This place - despite its relative isolation - is actually _comfortable_, and Bucky has to wonder if Steve had known that.

The faucets and fridge aren't over-polished chrome and there's no jarring black-to-white motif in here the way there is pretty much everywhere else. Instead the colors are muted, comfortable, _familiar_ in a way that Bucky's memories still have a hard time grasping, but he figures that _something_ in him still recognizes it. 

But more than anything, it's just Steve. Steve, looking softer and real and maybe even _happy_, and Steve just inhabiting the place. Bucky wonders idly if he'd find the cabin half as comforting if it wasn't for its other occupant.

So when Steve lifts his glass, Bucky hesitates, but his mind thankfully chimes in with the appropriate response. He lifts his own glass up, and there's a gentle _clink_ that sounds between them, a bit like a promise. Or... at least that's how it feels.

"Yeah," Bucky says, with a small smile, worn with history but still warm. "Together. I got'cha, pal. And it's... it's _really_ good to see you, Steve. I mean it."

* * *

Steve has a feeling that Sam would probably be a better bet on the whole modeling normalcy and peace and quiet for Bucky. Sam, in general, has more experience dealing with people, in knowing the right thing to say and when to simply listen (although Steve's pretty sure he hadn't done a bad job running his talk group in Sam's honor). But Steve doesn't want to directly include Sam in this - at least not at first. It's selfish, yeah, but he thinks he deserves a little bit here and there. Still, knowing that he can lean on Sam if need be does take some of the pressure off of Steve. 

Bucky's glass meets his own, the half-drunk lemonade sloshing but in no real risk of spilling. It's not the cheers or Bucky agreeing that has Steve's face softening - it's Bucky's warm smile. It's such a welcome relief to see it. Maybe it's not as carefree as it had been back then, but it's not the snarling Winter Soldier punching at him, nor is it Bucky with his metal arm in a vice looking utterly so defeated. This is much better. It's all Steve has ever wanted... 

It's then that Bucky's words really sink in and Steve gives a tight sigh, feeling his chest ache so fierce that he has to glance down for a moment. _Together. Good to see him..._

Steve isn't sure what kind of expression appears on his face. It might be a slightly forced smile, but he doesn't know what else to do because _Bucky _is here, in the kitchen, drinking lemonade - safe and sound - and it's almost too much to take. 

Steve nods, swallowing past the sudden influx of emotions. He takes another drink, finishing the lemonade and puts down the glass. He steps toward Bucky, a hand clasping Bucky's flesh shoulder lightly.

"I know the feeling," Steve says, voice thicker than he'd like. "And I feel the same way."

* * *

There's a look on Steve's face that Bucky can only just place even if he doesn't yet know where it's coming from. For a second, Steve's expression pinches. Bucky watches faint lines appear beside his eyes, watches the slight furrow to his brow, and notes the sudden thinness to his lips as something passes unseen behind Steve's eyes. Bucky doesn't know what it is, doesn't know what's just caught Steve's attention, but he knows that it had been due to what he'd said. Bucky watches as Steve struggles to contain himself.

Then a hand falls on his shoulder and clasps lightly, almost as though Steve doesn't want to risk touching harder, and Bucky gives him a long, hard look. He sets his own glass of lemonade down, still half-full, and even if he's not positive where this is coming from, he knows that Steve needs... something, and he feels like it's something that he should already be able to tell.

So Bucky just goes on instinct even if it still feels like a risk to do it. He reaches out, metal fingers touching Steve's shoulder. Then Bucky locks his arm around the back of Steve's shoulders and pulls him into a solid hug, one tight enough that if it hadn't been _Steve_, Bucky never would have risked it. 

And it's only as he pulls Steve in that Bucky thinks that this feels right, feels like he'd made the right decision. It feels like a memory half-uncovered, like something from a lifetime ago that he's just beginning to recognize.

"You'd better," Bucky says. "What with you inviting me to stay with you."

* * *

The first thing that Steve notices is that Bucky puts down his glass on the counter. It gives off a faintly crystalline _clink_ that draws his attention. Steve doesn't know why, knows that it's actually probably ridiculous to be distracted by something so simple, but he can't control the way he feels, and somewhere in the back of his mind, he hopes that Bucky understands.

He doesn't notice Bucky's arm until it's locked tight over his shoulder. Steve doesn't tense. Gone are the days where he feels any desire to escape contact with this man even though there are those who would call him crazy because of it. He's not expecting the touch but that doesn't matter. Steve is just grateful for it, and so when Bucky actually pulls and Steve half-stumbles forward, he's caught off guard by the sudden warmth of the hug that he's enveloped in. It feels familiar on one hand but different on the other, the warmth of a real body and the chill of Bucky's metal arm vying for top placement.

But despite Steve's surprise that this is actually happening, it's like something shifts ever so slightly in his chest, like the first small crack in a dam that will burst open one day. He hesitates for a second and then, like Bucky had told him to do it, Steve closes his eyes and reaches out.

The hug he pulls Bucky into is firm and tight, but that's fine. He feels the answering weight of Bucky's arm around his shoulders, and it immediately feels like this is something that they've both needed desperately. Over the last few years, after _everything_, Steve hadn't been sure that he'd ever feel this again. 

"God, Buck," he breathes into Bucky's shoulder. "I missed you."

* * *

What hits Bucky is that this hug lasts - _is_ lasting even. Steve and him have shared a few reunion hugs by now, but given the circumstances around them - you know, war, the world almost ending - it had never been an appropriate time to embrace longer than a few seconds. Even if they'd _had_ the time or the privacy, Bucky is pretty sure that back then he wouldn't have pushed for it. Not back in '44 and not since he'd reclaimed his mind. It still seems surreal that, after everything he's done, that he can have any measure of something so damn good- and that includes one Steve Rogers.

He's talked a little to Sam about this kind of thing - his guilt, his self-worth, how to move on - but all Bucky really knows is that he's still a work in progress.

Bucky can remember how it used to feel touching or hugging Steve when the punk had been smaller. Steve had been bony with sharp angles, but tough - hardened even. Now though? Steve bigger than him and picture of optimal health? Steve feels warm and perhaps a little worn, but Bucky thinks that that particular shoe fits him too. If anyone has reason to be worn, it's Steve. Steve who's sacrificed everything and who war keeps finding.

They hold each other, their arms tight, chest-to-chest, existing in each other's space. Now that they're really hugging he can't imagine what had taken them so long, why they hadn't done this earlier. Probably because they both can be idiots at times. The thought makes Bucky want to smile.

He can feel Steve's breath tickle his hair when the blond speaks and Bucky's arms instinctively tighten. The pressure of their embrace is almost uncomfortable, but Bucky doesn't think of easing up or letting go. Inside this kitchen they're two men out of time who, by fate or luck, keep getting chances to find each other again.

"No more leaving," Bucky says, quiet and resolute. "I'm not goin' anywhere." 

It's not a promise he can make, but Lord help anyone who tried to mess with either of them. If it was necessary, he'd find the Winter Soldier within himself and give em' all hell. This stated, Bucky does lean back in order to look at Steve. His grip loosens some but his arms still stay where they are. 

"Until the end of the line, right?"

* * *

It's weak, the feeling in Steve's chest as his arms lock around Bucky like if he just holds onto him tight enough, he'll never be able to disappear again. Steve might not be Captain America anymore. The shield might no longer be in his possession, but he knows - he _knows_ \- that if war comes back, if something else happens, he'll go. 

He always has and he always will, but for now Sam can take the mantle. Steve is tired, and oddly, it's only this moment that's really made him realize it. 

There's something about a cabin and quiet that keeps driving home that Steve hasn't had this in what feels like centuries. He hasn't had the simple pleasure of sitting outside in the sun, or sipping at a glass of lemonade, or having Bucky whole and real and _safe_ in front of him. 

Once, Steve had dreamed of being able to fight for his country, but he's done it. He's been doing it for years, and he'd keep doing it if he needed to. He always gets back up after he's been knocked down, but this last time had _done_ something to him.

Five years. Five _long_ years of forced control and contentment when the memory of Bucky turning to ash in front of him had been burned into his mind forever. It doesn't matter that everyone is back, that Banner had managed to fix everything. Steve had still lived it, had still experienced a world - _again_ \- without Bucky, and he knows now that he won't be able to handle it again. 

This trip had been for Bucky. Steve had insisted on it when he'd contacted Sam to set it up. But as Bucky's arms tighten around him and as Steve listens to what he says, something twists sharply in Steve's stomach. His eyes burn hot, he grits his teeth in silence, and he clutches Bucky hard to his chest with a rougher, shakier exhale. He knows now that this trip - that Bucky inhabiting his space again - is more for Steve than it is for his friend, and he doesn't even have it in himself to feel guilty for being so damn selfish. Not like this.

"Yeah," Steve finally manages, after what has undoubtedly been too long. Something in the back of his mind tells him he shouldn't be here, shouldn't be letting himself have this for so long, and so he allows his hold to loosen, but with clear reluctance. "Yeah, pal. No more leaving. Until the end of the line."

* * *

Five years ago, Bucky hadn't known what was happening when he'd called out for Steve, confused. When T'Challa had come bearing another vibranium arm, Bucky had only asked one question, '_where's the fight?'_ He hadn't understood the stakes. The fucking stakes being _half _of existence, but that hadn't mattered because he was a soldier and the Wakandans had given him refuge; Shuri had freed his mind, and Bucky knew that if he was needed, he'd do whatever he could.

And he had. He'd showed up, the gun a familiar weight, the enemies beastly and grotesque, but he'd been on the battlefield with Steve and that had given him a purpose again. That purpose had been short lived, but Bucky knows that he'd gotten the easy way out because after Thanos' snap, he'd simply ceased to exist. Those left behind - like Steve - they had suffered and been the ones to visit memorials and carry the weight of the dead with them.

In the scheme of their lives, given everything they've been through, five years isn't all that much time. But Steve had lost _him _again. Bucky has been through a lot, but he hasn't had to witness and experience Steve dying in front of him and he hopes he never has to. He's not interested in comparing who's had it worse, though - he's interested in how he can possibly triage these gaping wounds they bear. 

But he's not a medic and it's proven as he sees the glassiness of Steve's eyes because what could he possibly say or do right now to put Steve back together? Bucky doesn't stare. He doesn't call attention to it either. Instead, he offers a small smile. 

"Damn right," he says with a nod. 

* * *

It takes time for Steve to pull himself together, but he will always be grateful to Bucky for not saying anything about Steve's lapse in control. He leaves to clean up and Bucky lets him, lets Steve have a few minutes to wrestle the emotions back down where they belong, to focus on the _now_ instead of the past, and it helps. Because when he turns back around, Bucky is still there, whole and giving Steve his privacy, and _okay_, and Steve thinks that maybe, in time, he'll learn how to heal from what had happened. Bucky has had it far worse than him. 

Steve shows Bucky around again, in the end, lingering for a moment in Bucky's bedroom to show him how the window operates, because it can get warm at night, and again in the bathroom so that Steve can show him how the taps operate. Bucky seems willing to humor him as Steve pieces himself back together bit by bit, and by the time that Steve leads the way outside onto the wrap-around deck, the breath of fresh, forest air is enough to heal the last of the raw wounds. He smiles at Bucky, drinking in the sight of him, and Steve eventually leads the way to the porch swing out front.

It's old, but Steve had taken the time to fix it up after arriving. There's something about working with his hands - about _feeling_ the wood grain under his fingertips - that had appealed to him. He'd reinforced the swing, enough to easily accommodate two men of their weight, and Steve gestures for Bucky to follow him as he sits back against the swing.

It's slotted and airy, with a small canopy above them in case it rains, and it doesn't squeak or protest when Steve sits down and then braces his feet to keep it steady for Bucky to join him. 

"It's nice out here. When I saw it, I thought you'd probably enjoy it too. T'Challa told me that you'd seemed to like the open space out there. I figured... maybe you'd like the same here."

* * *

Steve isn't one to get choked up and necessarily _want_ to talk about it, so Bucky doesn't push or prod, he doesn't make a big deal out of it either. He lets Steve have the space to process whatever he's currently going through. Bucky takes another sip of his lemonade, still stunned that this is even happening at all. It still feels too big for him, too wild and crazy to even imagine, but he's living it. He's here still. Back from the dead, back from HYDRA's clutches. Another second chance...

He drops off his backpack in the room that's been designated for him and Bucky finds that he can actually see himself staying here and even being happy or at least _okay_. He hadn't known what to expect when Sam had told him of Steve's invitation - he still doesn't - but he has a feeling that things are going to be... okay? Things are going to work out.

Which is a pretty strange realization to have, but it's there, existing with him, like a flicker of hope and Bucky knows he's going to fight to keep it ablaze. He lets Steve show him the cabin's intricacies (even though he knows that he could have figured them out himself). It's _with _Steve so Bucky listens and nods at the instructions. 

Relocating outside brings with it a welcome change that Bucky can appreciate. He watches Steve settle on the older wooden porch swing and the sight is one that Bucky thinks about taking his phone out and snapping a picture (because apparently that's what you're supposed to do nowadays). He doesn't though. He thinks the phone is in his room anyway. 

A smile comes to Bucky at the mention of T'Challa. Despite Wakanda being the place he'd technically died in, it's still a positive memory for him. It's the first place Bucky had felt safe and clear headed - truly himself. Bucky takes the few steps over and joins Steve, settling beside him on the swing and gazing at the green around them. 

"I do like it out here," Bucky confirms. Given their size, their thighs are touching, Steve's warmth a welcome sensation. "Thanks for the invitation. I'm glad to be here."

* * *

In the back of his mind, Steve knows that he should have picked the cabin for himself. Maybe in a way he had, but he can't say that his own tastes had been the only factor. Yes, there's something soothing about the wood grain and lack of glaringly modern appliances - Tony would have called it something abrasive, of course, something like _retro_, but the thought aches now, after so long - but Steve likes the simplicity of the floors and walls, and the long, winding path. It's simple in a way that nothing has been for longer than _just_ five years, but that's not a bad thing.

He might not be walking the knife's edge right now, but that doesn't mean that Steve isn't tired. He feels weary in the way that one only can when there's grief lining the edges of it, but Steve's been a soldier for far too long to _only_ dwell on grief. The dead stay dead but he has a new shot at living, and he's going to take it. In a sense, that's why Bucky is here.

Steve holds the swing steady as Bucky lowers himself down beside him. Steve glances at him with a small smile and he focuses on the good things that he can see. Like on how healthy Bucky looks now, how long his hair is, how _real_ his smile looks. Bucky's thigh presses against his, warm and solid, and somehow, Steve feels some of the ache begin to ease. 

There's nothing crucial about this moment, nothing earth-shattering, but that's fine. There doesn't need to be.


	2. Chapter 2

There had been a part of Steve that had expected something to shift noticeably with Bucky's presence in his life, but to Steve's surprise, it didn't. At least not in the way he'd expected.

Bucky fit into Steve's life like a missing puzzle piece. That night, Steve did what he could to throw food together, and Bucky lingered in the kitchen with him while he worked. They ate together, Bucky gently teasing Steve about his attempt and Steve daring him to do better. It was... comfortable, and despite the history between them, despite the last few decades, it was like nothing had changed. 

Bucky still found a blanket in one of the old closets that Steve hadn't even explored, and they settled down on the porch that evening, sitting back against the house, just drinking in the surroundings as the sun set over the trees. 

It felt _good_, was the thing. It felt right. They ate, they slept, they inhabited each other's space like nothing had changed. On Saturday, Steve proposed a walk, and for the first time in what felt like decades, Steve felt a small blossoming of contentment deep in his chest. Bucky didn't say anything, but he didn't need to. It was just comfortable. And, that evening, when Bucky wound up falling asleep on the couch in front of the fireplace, Steve's fingers itched until he finally gave in. He pulled out his sketchbook, feeling the pencil between his fingers, and wondered if this was what being happy felt like.

The problem with happiness was that Steve had apparently lost track of time, though. It isn't until Sunday evening, with the both of them sat on the couch in front of the fireplace, that Steve remembers that he had _only_ invited Bucky over for the weekend. And, mid-chuckle at something Bucky had said, Steve trails off.

"Hey, Buck. You've... liked it here. Right? Had a good time? Because Sam's comin' to get you in the morning."

* * *

The time goes by at its own comfortable pace. They're not together all the time, but they don't need to be. Sometimes it's Bucky who allows Steve his privacy and other times it's Steve that will wander away when he can sense that Bucky's not in a social mood. Steve has a few phone calls to Sam and while Bucky finds himself legitimately curious about them, he'd never eavesdrop on either of his friends. 

Friends have been in short supply for him.

He checks in with Sam - just a few short texts over the days. Texting may be considered convenient, but Bucky still thinks he prefers the tried and true face-to-face. Given how disconnected he used to feel, he's pretty sure that no one would blame him either.

This new world is very technologically advanced and although he's been outfitted with a now superior vibranium arm, Bucky still doesn't feel like he really belongs here. He's seen men with long hair, women kissing and marrying other women, the tattoos, the piercings... There's been many social advancements and changes throughout the decades, most of them seem good, some not so good. Steve has been living in the 21st century longer than he has been - legitimately living too - but Bucky thinks that Steve likely feels the same way.

Still, tucked away in this cabin, the world doesn't really touch them. They reminisce, they enjoy each other's company. They laugh and tease one another and it's so great that sometimes Bucky feels like he may by dreaming.

But his dreams had never been like _this_, sitting next to Steve on a couch, a fire crackling, and no danger around. No fight. No other distractions.

And then Steve speaks up and the reality of what this was supposed to be hits him - a _weekend_ trip. Bucky straightens, an uncomfortable panic stabbing at him at just the idea of leaving - at this _ending_ \- and he tenses, eyes wide, metal fingers curling into fists readying himself to--

_What? No_.

Then he sees Steve's stricken face and Bucky shakes his head and exhales slowly, remembering Sam's words to focus on his breathing if he feels like he's stressed. His head ducks down, embarrassed at his initial over-reaction. 

Words not actions, use his words... 

"I wanna stay," he grits out. "You okay with that?"

* * *

Steve doesn't realize the impact that his words are going to have until it's already too late. In his defense, it's been quiet, it's been _simple_ here with Bucky in the cabin by his side, the sort of simple that Steve doesn't _get_ anymore. They've talked, they've eaten together, reminisced some, and it's just been good. Domestic, even, which is something that still feels almost impossible to Steve. 

War and domesticity have never mixed, and the idea that he could actually _have_ that even for a few days is special in a way that he can't explain.

He _wants_ Bucky to stay. Steve thinks he's always wanted Bucky to stay. Ever since the moment that Bucky had walked off to enlist, Steve has wanted him there, back home, back safe. So when he speaks, that's what's on his mind, a hope that maybe, just maybe, for once, Bucky _will_ stay.

But Steve has been a soldier for too long to miss the sudden clenching of Bucky's fists, and he's known Bucky for too long to not recognize his panic, though that is a sour, recent development. It's still an expression that Steve hates, because he hates that Bucky has to feel it to begin with. But it's there, and Steve is already tensing, already half-toward the edge of his seat, expression tight and _concerned_ by the time that Bucky seems to force himself to relax. 

Steve sits there, one hand on the armrest of the sofa, the other light on his thigh.

Bucky breathes, and slowly Steve begins to relax. It's slow, cautious, with Steve looking Bucky over warily, but nothing actually happens. Steve focuses on that. And while he's still a little wired from the shock, Bucky's question cuts through everything else.

"Of course I am, Bucky," Steve insists, allowing himself to relax again. And, after a second, Steve reaches back and sets his hand on Bucky's forearm. "In fact... I was really hoping you'd say that. I don't want you to leave either."

* * *

Words, not actions. This isn't a fight (although the mere _thought _of leaving had certainly registered as a threat). Logically he knows that Steve likely wants him to stay, but Bucky shouldn't assume anything here. He's already been given so much, a second chance, a new arm, freedom, his very existence. The list is long and he doesn't want to ask for more, but he asks now. 

He asks Steve if it's okay. Maybe Bucky needs to hear it or maybe he wants to hear it. He doesn't know if that makes any sense or if he's just selfish.

He's trying. He's been trying to be a good guest, to help out with the dishes, to be polite - to be _himself, _at least what he can manage. Because Bucky knows there's no going back to simpler idyllic times when his biggest worry had been making enough money to afford Steve's medications if he were to have another bout of pneumonia. Things had changed after Bucky went to war and after Steve had practically begged to become a science experiment. He doesn't remember everything while being in the Howling Commandos, but he can remember a _careful closeness_ that he'd had with Steve because while they had been close, they'd both remained guarded.

Bucky thinks a 'careful closeness' could also be applicable here and he doesn't think he likes it. He sees Steve relax at his answer, or rather him not acting out. Steve tells him what he wants to hear and then _touch_. 

Bucky looks down at the hand that grasps his forearm through his shirt. Steve's hand is bigger, his fingers wider and more masculine - stronger - like all of him since that 'experiment.' Bucky has a distinct memory of Steve's more delicate fingers holding a pencil and drawing. He'd liked watching Steve back then.

"You draw anymore?" Bucky asks. The question feels safer to ask.

* * *

There's something in Bucky's eyes as Steve sits there, his hand warm on Bucky's arm. Once, a long time ago, a _lifetime_ ago, Steve would have been able to take one look at Bucky and _know_. How he felt, what was on his mind, whether he'd had nightmares all night or a date last too long into the evening. Once, he and Bucky had been practically conjoined. 

Now Steve looks in Bucky's eyes and sees... shades. Shapes. Colors and swirls of thought that he can't make out the way he could once. It makes something heavier settle in his stomach, the thought of all they've lost, all they'd given up over the years, all that they'd had _taken away_ from them. But as Steve sits there and watches those flickers of emotion behind Bucky's eyes, he quietly resolves that he won't stop - won't _leave_ \- until he knows what Bucky looks like when he's remembering something, or happy, or relaxed. 

If it takes another eighty years, well. He's got the time. They both do. He _will_ make this new life - this new _chance_ that they have - work.

So he smiles when Bucky asks his question, because while Steve wants to ask why Bucky had looked like that, while he wants to ask why Bucky had panicked, now isn't the time. Instead, he takes his hand from Bucky's arm just for a second as he leans across to the side-table beside the couch. Across from them, the flames in the grate crackle and spit lazily and shadows sway like trees in the wind. 

Steve takes his sketchbook from beside him and pulls it out. And, because he thinks it might do them both some good, Steve sets his hand back on Bucky's arm as he flips the book open with his free hand and slides the pencil from its bound-ring holder. On the page in front of him is the porch swing with simple shading, as though half-there, painted on glass.

"I do it more now than I did over the last few months. Got... pretty good at it, during those five years. Wasn't much else to do."

* * *

Bucky remembers it being a lot _easier _between them - easier to speak, easier to move around and exist in each other's space, easier to read each other. Not that it's necessarily_ hard _right now, it's just different. It's... strained? Like they're careful around each other, like neither of them want to take a misstep or rock the boat. 

Bucky gets it, but he doesn't necessarily _like _it. He doesn't know what to do to change that, however. The thought of him doing something to mess _this _up... he can't handle it.

He's glad that Steve lets them move the conversation along. Sam's told him that opening up about his struggles - when he's ready - would be good for him, but Bucky doesn't want to do that right now. He doesn't want to dredge it up, not when they've had these quiet calm few days (that now, thankfully, have been extended).

Steve's touch leaves in favor of reaching for an apparent sketchbook, but then, it's back - warm and reassuring and grounding. The sketchbook rests on Steve's lap, opened to an unfinished drawing of the porch swing out front. Bucky's eyes look over the beginnings of the drawing, a smile of recognition coming to his face. He likes that Steve is still drawing - and drawing things around the cabin that they're _both _occupying.

He thinks about suggesting that Steve goes back to art school because Steve had taken a few classes back then. But money had always been tight and then the war had really taken off and art school hadn't really been a priority. 

"You used to have delicate looking wrists... slender fingers," Bucky says to himself, but it sounds more like a passing comment. And then Bucky's metal hand is reaching over to pull Steve's hand _off _his other arm, so _his _flesh hand can take Steve's. Flesh-on-flesh, he cradles Steve's hand in his own, eyes gazing down at it. 

"Ain't gonna lie, back then, I liked that I could protect you. And I'm glad that you were able to get healthy and big... but I wished you'd never came over to the war. I never wanted that for you."

* * *

Steve isn't sure what he's expecting Bucky to say, but it's not that. He looks down at his hands the moment that Bucky indicates that they had once been different, his wrists delicate, fingers slender. It feels a little like a lifetime ago now but Steve can still remember it. 

Can remember needing help to do the simplest things, like reach for something on a top shelf, or opening a jar. But regardless of the difficulties that he'd had, he's always had Bucky. Bucky, gently teasing with fondness in his eyes, who had always, _always_ helped him, no matter how ridiculous Steve's problem had been.

Bucky's hand takes his own and Steve almost freezes, though not due to displeasure or anything. It's more due to surprise. He goes still as Bucky's hand takes his and Steve watches as his friend studies it, as memories in Bucky's mind slowly begin to compare themselves to his new reality. He doesn't pull back, just keeps his hand there, steady and waiting, and Steve stays quiet as Bucky seems to consider it.

When he goes on, something old and brittle in Steve's chest takes a small blow. Bucky talks about protecting him, about wishing he'd _never_ come to the war, and Steve wonders, for a moment, whether he should say anything. His heart feels like it's beating quicker in his chest and Steve can feel the roughness of Bucky's fingers against his skin, just the way they'd always been, like a gift from a long time ago.

"You still protect me, Buck," Steve says quietly. "You always have, even if you didn't know you were doing it at the time. Even when it would have been easier not to." Steve looks down at the way Bucky's hand cradles his own and the sketchbook on Steve's thigh slides just a little before Steve reaches out with his free hand and catches it. He sets it on the table, in full view, for when Bucky wants it.

"I couldn't do any less for you," Steve adds, and there's meaning behind the words. "Not when you were in trouble. I couldn't leave you there, but--"

But he had. The thought hits Steve the way it sometimes does, hard and lashing and cruel, and something flickers in his expression, an old, heavy guilt. 

He swallows. "I should have looked for you."

* * *

As soon as the admission is out, Bucky knows that he shouldn't have said it. His words might be true, but _now _isn't a great time to dig up any part of the past. They have a future, a real chance here, an _opportunity _to move on and try that 'peace and quiet' thing out and here's him, admitting stuff that has no sway in the _now. _

_But Steve's bony wrists, slim fingers gripping a pencil and Bucky wanted to take that pencil's place, to have his hand--_

It had been such a rollercoaster to see Steve big and strong and suddenly so fucking _capable_. The great soldier - maybe even a perfect soldier. Years of _him _being the protector, of being the one that Steve had to _look up _to... it had been a shaky adjustment. They hadn't really had time to figure out if anything had changed between them. _They _weren't a priority, not when the world could possibly burn. _Steve _had got pushed to the back for Captain America to take the lead. Bucky understands.

But he hadn't wanted Steve to see the violence and destruction of war, he hadn't wanted Steve to be _a part _of that world. He'd wanted to think of Steve, safe, back in Brooklyn, just sketchin'... And maybe that made him a horrible person, or at least a selfish one, because all Steve had wanted was to do the _right thing _and Bucky would have had him denied that chance. But Bucky's never claimed to be a good person anyway.

It doesn't matter now. Distantly he hears Steve's soft voice, insistent and comforting. He sees the sketchbook slip, but he doesn't get distracted. His eyes remain fixated on Steve's hand. Just a hand, just flesh and bone, but it had reached for him and pulled him off cold cement and even now he remembers the _clang _of that shield dropping--

It's Steve's tone of guilt that has Bucky's eyes flicking up to connect with Steve's. 

"You couldn't have known that I'd survive," he says, equally quiet. "I didn't... didn't tell anyone about the experiments." Because if he had, he was afraid of being taken away from Steve. "I never blamed you. Still don't."

* * *

It's an old guilt, one that Steve has been carrying with him for years now, ever since that moment on the bridge when he'd managed to rip Bucky's mask off during their fight. Ever since he'd gone cold with shock and the worst of the fight had just left him in a heartbeat, the guilt has just been there, present, insistent, _there_. It had been there in the years it had taken to find Bucky again, and the year he'd been in cryo, and then... then in the five that had followed, more bitter than ever. 

Because if he'd just _looked, _if he'd just saved Bucky from everything, then maybe he would have been fine. Maybe he would have had a good life even without Steve there. A better one than he'd wound up with, and all because Steve hadn't looked for him.

It weighs him down like a stone as Steve sits there, the old guilt pressing him down in the way he's only ever let it _outside_ of Bucky's sight. What right does Steve have to feel bad, after all? When Bucky had been the one to suffer unimaginable torture and pain. Even now, sitting together, Bucky's hand still cradling Steve's like it's something special, Steve wonders if maybe, just maybe, Bucky would have been better off if Steve had taken one last trip through time. Just one. One trip to go back to the bottom of that ravine and _save him_ the way he should have before.

But before Steve can follow that thought back any further (and the inevitable guilt that will follow it because it would mean that he wouldn't have Bucky _now_, and Steve doesn't think he can handle that) Bucky speaks, his tone low, careful, and soothing. Steve looks at him and sees Bucky looking back, and the weight of guilt in his chest just sharpens. Steve swallows.

"_I_ blamed me. I don't think I'll ever stop," he admits, quiet. He's never told anyone, hadn't even told Natasha even though she'd always insisted that it hadn't been his fault. He misses her suddenly, with an ache that's hard to push through, but he does. For Bucky. 

"You didn't deserve that. No one ever would, but _especially_ not you, Buck. You were always the best of me. I swear, even if it takes me another lifetime to make it right - to finally do right by you - I will."

* * *

Bucky's had nightmares of falling, of screaming and reaching out for anything - anyone - to help save him. Sometimes the dream morphs and it will suddenly be _Steve_ falling from the helicarrier, which somehow is still as bad, because Bucky remembers staring down as Steve's body crashed against the water and he hadn't been able to fully understand _why_ he'd felt such gripping terror inside his chest. 

He understands now. It's like it had been ingrained inside his body - the need to protect Steve - and his body had recognized that, because his metal fist _hadn't _taken that last swing. He hadn't finished that mission, but he had let Steve fall.

But then he'd jumped in after him. It had been the start of _Bucky_ making decisions, and not the Winter Soldier. A crack forming in his mind, a bond fighting fiercely to be remembered.

It's true that he's never blamed Steve. Not for him falling, not for him _not_ being looked for or found after. Captain America had a larger mission and purpose - stopping HYDRA - and Steve had sacrificed himself in order to do just that. Both of them had been greeted by an icy sleep... How could he ever blame Steve? Steve who'd fought tooth and claw after _finding him_, surrendering that shield again and again for him. It almost seems poetic.

It's no shock that Steve wants to hold onto that blame, but Bucky's eyebrows pull in, displeased. His own chest feels tight. He doesn't know how to fix this. Bucky pushes down his uncertainty. He's used to fear and at least this fear is with Steve.

_'I swear, even if it takes me another lifetime to make it right - to finally do right by you - I will.'_

This has Bucky's hand squeezing Steve's, his fingers scrambling to hold onto Steve's hand, they don't line up properly but he doesn't try and change it. His heart is hammering away in his chest but this isn't a panic that he wants to escape.

"You're... doing right by me... Right now," Bucky insists, his voice thick. "Sam told me something..." He starts and licks his lips. "He told me that carrying around all this blame and guilt doesn't leave room for other things - other good things." 

Like love. Friendship. Hope.

* * *

Steve means it. If it takes him years, he's going to do everything in his power to make it up to Bucky, because he honestly doesn't know what he's going to do if can't. Steve's felt guilty over a lot of things in his life. Good men and women - soldiers and civilians - lost on his watch, mistakes he's made, choices he's made that had hurt people he'd cared about. 

There's more guilt in his mind than he cares to admit, and Steve doesn't think it's going to go anywhere anytime soon. But everything surrounding Bucky - dragging him out to fight again after having been tortured, not catching him on the train, not _looking_ for him after he'd fallen, and not being able to _save_ him five years ago - still weighs on Steve's mind like a burden.

Steve feels Bucky's hand shift under his own, feels the curl of warm, callused, _real _fingers curling over his own hand, and Steve's attention drifts down to where their hands are clasped together. It's awkward, their hands not fitting together perfectly, the angle wrong, but as Bucky holds on, Steve feels a deep ache in his chest, something heavy and sweet. Because there had been a time only a few months ago where he would have sacrificed the whole damn world just to feel this again.

Bucky's voice is thick when he speaks, and Steve looks up at him. He takes in the look on Bucky's face - familiar somehow despite the years, despite everything that's happened - and that ache in Steve's chest only gets worse. Still, he doesn't cut in, doesn't interrupt, doesn't insist that _this_ doesn't even begin to cover how much he has yet to make up for. He doesn't stress that letting Bucky stay with him when Steve _wants_ him to doesn't constitute 'doing right by him', even if he does think it.

But not even Steve can discount something that _Sam_ had told Bucky. Steve respects Sam. He always has. And the thought of Sam actually talking to Bucky about everything he's been through, the thought of him doing what he could to _help_ makes Steve viciously grateful that Sam is his friend. Is _their_ friend, now. Even if a small, unpleasant part of himself wishes that he could have had the right words to give Bucky himself. 

_Carrying around blame and guilt doesn't leave room for other good things. _

The idea is so simple, but Steve knows that it's true. He looks down at the way Bucky's fingers are curled over his hand, then back up at Bucky's face, and something - one tiny little thread of thought - finally breaks through: his guilt won't help Bucky. And looking at him now, with the crease between his brow and the worry in his eyes, Steve feels a pang, because Bucky is worried about _him_. Against all odds, and despite everything, Bucky is still looking out for him.

Steve turns to face him, and just for a second, he reaches out with his free hand. He touches Bucky's cheek, his thumb trailing over it slowly before he slides his hand back to slip through Bucky's hair. Then Steve gives a gentle tug and he leans in. He presses a kiss to the center of Bucky's forehead and Steve closes his eyes and stays there, keeping Bucky close for too long to just be friendly.

"I missed you, Buck. More than I can say," Steve says, and his voice is just as thick as Bucky's had been. "But Sam's a smart guy. It's probably worth listening to him."

* * *

During their time together Sam hadn't actually been preachy with any advice or words of wisdom which meant that, when Sam _had _spoken up, Bucky tended to listen. Guilt and regret, fear and frustration... Bucky's no stranger to any of it. Being free of HYDRA hadn't come with any sort of lightness or liberation. No, Bucky had felt heavy and weary, past horrors like inescapable restraints (not all of them _against _him even).

It'd been better in Wakanda after he'd been apparently 'fixed'... but that had just been his programming. Humans are much more complex than machines. Bucky's not sure the broken are truly ever repaired, or if they just merely adapt and soldier on. Because physical injuries are stitched up and bandaged and eventually scar tissue forms but what about the inside? The cracks and fissures? The sore, tender parts they try and protect... Bucky remembers Tony Stark's funeral, he remembers seeing the glint of _haunted _present in almost every person there. 

Steve is struggling with regret, on his perceived mistakes, but Bucky won't willingly walk down that path. He doesn't want to think of Steve burdening himself with even _more_, he doesn't want to consider _himself_ as some damsel in distress either. He knows what HYDRA had done was messed up. He knows that he hadn't consented or wanted the serum, another chance at life or the arm, but what's done is done. Steve may view him as a victim, but Bucky wants nothing to do with that identity.

A thumb runs over his cheek - above his beard - and then that hand is burying itself in his hair. Steve grips, pulls a little, and then, surprisingly - dry lips are pressed to his forehead, which they've never done before. It's not a chaste thing either. No, Steve's mouth stays there, insistent yet gentle. And when Steve speaks, his mouth remains close enough that Bucky can feel Steve's lips move against his skin, he can feel Steve's breath. 

Bucky's squeezes Steve's hand and with Steve struggling, Bucky gathers his resolve. 

"Yeah, so stop being a punk," Bucky says and he lifts his head up and he leans forward, brushing his mouth against Steve's. 

* * *

Steve doesn't remember to be nervous because in that moment, he doesn't feel it. The bitterness of guilt still lingers in the back of his mind but as Steve focuses on the present, it's a little easier to set aside. He doesn't think he'll ever really let it go, and a part of him will always envy people like Bucky and Tony and Thor, who grieve and mourn and express themselves instead of compartmentalizing the way that Steve always has. The way he _is_. But focusing on the dead won't bring him anywhere. Focusing on the living - on _Bucky_ \- is what matters.

So he does. His lips press to Bucky's forehead and it doesn't matter that they've never done this before. It doesn't matter that Steve's taking this chance, because it _feels_ right. He can't think of anything he'd rather do in that moment than keep Bucky close and remind himself that Bucky is safe, that he's _alive_, and here, and still trying to help despite all the stuff going on in his head. Steve feels the warmth of his skin, feels the way that Bucky squeezes his hand, and when Bucky tips his head up, nothing registers as wrong.

The kiss feels as natural as breathing and as electrified as a storm. It's soft, a chaste thing, and Steve feels something leap from deep in his chest, something he'd always known but never admitted to. He feels the scratch of Bucky's beard against his chin, feels how dry his lips are, and a shiver works its way down Steve's spine as his breath hitches. It only takes a breath - one single breath - for the shock to ease, and then Steve's fingers slide back through Bucky's hair again and he kisses back, slow, chaste, but meaningful.

He works his hand free of Bucky's then just so he can reach up and cup Bucky's face in both of his hands. It's somehow the most familiar _and_ unfamiliar thing that Steve has ever felt, but he doesn't hesitate to lean in again once the first kiss naturally breaks so that he can press another to Bucky's lips, careful, slow, and sweet. 

* * *

Bucky has distant memories of kissing dames in that old life of his, memories of soft skin and womanly fragrance, memories of giggling and curves, but kissing Steve doesn't make him think of his days back in Brooklyn and having a lady warm up to him. No. This feels like a long time coming - decades really - and their _history_ comes crashing into Bucky the moment that his lips brush against Steve's. 

It's the gripping fear of watching a sickly small Steve struggle to breathe. It's the fond exasperation at Steve's latest attempt to stick up for anyone and everyone and, in turn, getting himself a shiner. It's that level of camaraderie where they could just sit in comfortable silence while Steve sketched. It's the pairing of relief and terror at seeing _Steve_ overseas and _him _being the one needing saving. 

It's the feeling of being misplaced next to Steve in the Commandos but knowing that he wouldn't want to be anywhere else. It's the piercing confusion of his programming beginning to crack, words weaponized out of Steve's mouth. It's the drive that directed Bucky to the museum, his eyes looking over every piece of offered fact (truths).

It's the gripping uncertainty at seeing _Captain America _in his shabby apartment and how he wanted to trust him anyway. It's crippling self-doubt of realizing how much Steve was giving up for him. It's the adrenaline of their bodies fighting in sync. It's Steve's offering his hand, Steve gripping him and carrying him, that shield dropping (again, for him). It's the reunion embraces that never lasted long enough and the fights that Bucky would show up to no matter what because Steve was leading the charge.

Their history coalesces - friend, brother, memory, soulmate. Bucky feels simultaneously torn apart and mended when Steve's sharp intake of breath is felt against his skin. Steve's fingers move into his longer hair and he's kissed back - a meeting of mouths, the culmination of a what's felt like a lifetime of longing. 

Bucky lets Steve's hand go, somehow knowing that only more touch is going to come his way if he does. He's not wrong - his face is cupped and Bucky's flesh hand reaches out to grasp onto Steve's shirt. He trembles when their first kiss ends and inhales sharply when Steve's lips are back.

Given the nearness, Bucky can't really make out any crisp details of Steve's face but he doesn't dare to close his eyes. He doesn't want the darkness (never again). His metal arm remains purposely still - he doesn't want to touch Steve with it. His fingers fidget with Steve's shirt, his lips following Steve's lead, his heartbeat steady.

* * *

Steve feels Bucky's sharp breath the moment before their lips press together again, and it's like the floodgates suddenly open. There's a rush in his mind, an almost overwhelming sort of _knowing_, and while he's always _known_, he'd always been too afraid to really let himself acknowledge it, to let himself hope. To even let himself _think _that this could potentially be something that he might one day have. 

He remembers Bucky, strong and confident, easygoing, with an undercurrent of serious that he'd only ever shown to Steve on the worst days. Days where Steve had been freezing cold even under three blankets, and burning up in the middle of a Brooklyn winter. Days where Bucky had stubbornly planted himself by Steve's side, fingers carding through his hair, refusing to leave even for the time it would have taken to make himself something to eat. The memories are delirious but Steve remembers the emotion, remembers thinking that no one would _ever_ treat him the way that Bucky had treated him. He remembers feeling selfish, remembers thinking that if Bucky had only leaned in _just_ a bit closer...

Steve had always thought that there would be more time. More time to get over the hurt and pride at seeing Bucky kiss someone else in front of him. More time to soak up his presence and his laugh. More time to be with him whole, happy, and healthy, but that's the funny thing that Steve has noticed about _time_ in his life. No matter how much he has, no matter how many times he's skirted through it, there's _never_ been enough of it. Not where they're concerned.

There hadn't been enough time in the Howling Commandos, though every night, Steve had wondered if _just maybe_, that night... There hadn't been enough time after that, because Bucky had been gone - for good - and Steve had mourned like he'd never mourned before. And their whole history - their whole existence - meeting after meeting, has followed in the same vein. Finding Bucky as the Winter Soldier, losing him on the helicarrier, finding him in Romania only to lose him to Wakanda, and finding him in Wakanda only to _lose him_ there. Steve had always assumed there would be time. But if there's one thing he knows now, it's that time doesn't wait, and neither should he.

So he kisses Bucky like he means something to Steve, because _no one_ has ever meant more. He kisses Bucky like he's sorry, like the guilt might tear them both apart. And he kisses Bucky like this won't be the last time, like he has a _lifetime_ to make up for, like Steve is only getting started, because he is. And when Bucky's hand comes to his shirt - his singular hand - Steve understands before he has the chance to think about it. 

He breaks the kiss to draw a single breath and he cups Bucky's face in his hands, tender. "Both of them, Buck," he breathes against Bucky's lips. "Not just one part of you. _All_ of you," Steve promises, and kisses him again, so carefully that it makes him shake with the effort to finally do right by Bucky. 

* * *

Bucky remembers what the museum had written about them - inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield... The word _inseparable _has always stuck with him. It had been the truth of course. When Bucky was young, he'd wanted Steve as his brother because then they could have lived in the same house and it'd be easier to keep an eye on the punk. It's not that Bucky ever believed that Steve was helpless (he wasn't), it's just that the guy always had been pretty great at biting off more than he could chew (which Bucky thinks is still true to this day).

Brotherly feelings had been easier to understand because that's the kind of love that all the bible verses had been going on and on about. Brotherly love was _good _and_ natural. _The love of a friend could be wholesome too, but Bucky's never felt like he'd been the _wholesome_ type. But Steve, skinny and still fierce, had never easily fit into a box. Not a brother, not quite a best friend, because Bucky had known that he'd wanted Steve close and around him, around him for the rest of his life even. More than a few times he'd talked about 'the plan'.

The plan was for them both to find a wife and homes next to each other. Their wives would have to be friends and the same with their kids. It just made sense to Bucky. They'd grow old together. Not a perfect plan, but a pretty good one. The best he could manage at least...

Bucky hadn't really had a clear idea about his _own_ deeper feelings until he'd seen how smitten Steve was toward Agent Carter - and it was mutual. The _mutual_ part had been a first time for that, and jealousy had reared its head like a great sea monster coming up. Steve had deserved her - they'd deserved each other - but something dark and possessive had still growled unhappily within Bucky. Thankfully they'd had more important things to focus on like stopping HYDRA, and he'd buried any untoward feelings he'd had for Steve. Besides, two men weren't supposed to be like that.

Apparently now that sort of thing _is _a thing. Even if it hadn't been, Bucky can't say that he'd care. Not after everything. Bucky can't. Steve is here - with him - and it's no surprise that their hearts beat for one another. It's a sweet, tender kiss - learning and loving - and when Steve's mouth leaves his own, Steve's breath ghosting against his lips, Bucky's fingers tighten in the fabric of Steve's shirt. 

Steve's hands are warm against his face and Bucky understands what Steve is getting at - Steve telling him that he can touch with the metal hand too. But it's not an open conversation because Steve's mouth is back on his. The kiss is so gentle, like he's maybe made of glass and Bucky's chest aches (maybe he is). But his vibranium hand - so unlike glass - doesn't move. 

_He _actually moves, head pulling away and ducking down as he suddenly takes a deeper breath. "Need a... need a moment," Bucky mumbles out.

* * *

It's a promise that Steve is willing to make because, to him, it doesn't make a difference. Flesh or metal, warm or cold, Bucky is still _Bucky_. He's still Steve's friend, still the man he'd given everything up for. He's still the man Steve would give everything up for _again _if it came down to it, because this is something that he can't lose. 

He can _never_ lose Bucky again, because as Steve sits there, his hands gentle on Bucky's face, Bucky's lips chapped and warm under his, he knows that he can't take it again. He can't take another loss without it doing something irreparable. Steve can always get back up. He always _will_ get back up. But if something happens to Bucky, he knows he won't want to.

Maybe Steve's a little too lost in his own thoughts. Maybe he's a bit too focused on the warmth of Bucky's lips and the scratch of his beard, because he doesn't notice the small fissures forming in Bucky's expression. Not until it's too late and Bucky is suddenly drawing back. Steve instinctively follows him, not thinking too much about it until Bucky tilts his head down and tells Steve that he needs a moment, and something in Steve's chest freezes. 

He leans back just enough to look at Bucky properly and immediately he wonders what the problem is. Thoughts zip through his head, thoughts about over-stimulation or going too fast, or taking it a step too far, but Steve doesn't draw back completely. Instead, breathing a little harder, Steve searches Bucky's face, quiet, concerned, inwardly aching but not willing to push. 

"Yeah, Buck," Steve says, and his thumb brushes along Bucky's cheek even if he drops his other hand away. The last thing he wants is for Bucky to feel crowded. "Was that too much? Are you okay?"

* * *

A moment... A life is made up of a series of interconnected moments. Good, bad, some in between... For Bucky it feels like his life's collection of moments are on the more severe end and generally really bad. For the last while anything _not_ bad was him simply biding his time for the other shoe to drop. Bucky knows that he hadn't felt this way before shipping off. Decades ago, his moments hadn't been overly favoring any one direction. There was good - dancing, fairs, pretty ladies, Steve by his side, and there was bad - struggling for money, Steve's erratic health...

Bucky is uncertain how these next moments will turn out. He doesn't want them to be bad - he can handle the bad - but Steve doesn't deserve a bad moment, not after he'd been kissing him so sweetly and wanting _all_ of him. Bucky is afraid of what that could mean, he's not so sure he even likes all of himself (he's pretty sure he doesn't).

One of Steve's hands falls from his face, but one does remain, a thumb stroking against his cheek and above his beard. He can feel the weight and concern in Steve's gaze without even meeting Steve's eyes.

Bucky simply breathes as Steve asks about him. Too much? Maybe? But it also felt like not enough. Is he okay? No, but are any of them okay? Probably not.

He wants to tell Steve to not kiss him like he's something delicate (and worthy of tenderness), but his mouth doesn't open.

He wants to reassure Steve that he's fine and that it wasn't too much, but his jaw tenses instead.

The seconds pass and Bucky knows he needs to say something - to say anything - but some language part of his brain seems suddenly locked up. 

He'd been talking just a minute ago, passing on advice and now suddenly he's rendered useless. Bucky doesn't understand why and what changed but his confusion gives way to frustration and suddenly Steve's touch on his face feels hot and wrong and Bucky flinches away, his own hand pulling back.

He stands up and he's able to at least hold up one finger for Steve, indicating that he needs a minute (another moment) and with that Bucky is stalking away and out of the cabin, sock-feet be damned.

* * *

For a few seconds, Steve doesn't see anything wrong. He looks at Bucky, at his down-turned face, at the way his eyes don't seem to be focused on any one thing in particular, but Steve doesn't see anything he should be concerned about beyond the fact that Bucky had made him stop. Steve's chest is still aching with something deep and sweet and fathomless that feels like it's been growing steadily and slowly for years, but the way that Bucky turns away from him, the way he disconnects... that still worries Steve.

He's not _truly_ concerned until the moment he realizes that Bucky has been quiet for too long, until he sees the small furrow on Bucky's brow and sees the clear evidence of a conflict going on in Bucky's mind. In Steve's experience, inner conflicts have never been good in Bucky's world. And watching him now, seeing the pinch steadily growing in Bucky's expression, Steve's worry only grows. He doesn't realize how bad it is, though. Not until Bucky suddenly flinches _away_ from his hand.

Steve feels something lurch in his chest. Logically, he knows it's not a rejection. Bucky had been the one to kiss _him. _But that doesn't mean that it doesn't hurt. 

It also doesn't mean that the _second_ Bucky stands, that Steve's not already halfway onto his feet, one hand braced on the sofa, expression suddenly serious. He opens his mouth to ask, but Bucky's finger cuts him off, and then, before Steve can say anything, Bucky spins sharply and in seconds he's out of the cabin. 

Steve watches him go, stunned, still a little breathless. He can still feel the scratch of Bucky's beard against his chin, can still feel the tingle in his lips. For a second, Steve stands there, halfway up, staring after Bucky. Then the moonlight outside catches on the glint of Bucky's metal arm and something in Steve's chest finally surges.

He stands and takes off after Bucky at a run, mindless of his bare feet on the grass outside. Neither of them are dressed to be out, Steve just in a thin grey t-shirt and soft pants, and Bucky looking frail and dangerous with his arm reflecting in the moonlight. Steve might not know what's going on, but he does know that no matter how nervous he feels, the one thing he will always do is run _towards_ Bucky. There isn't anywhere that Bucky can go that Steve won't follow him. Not anymore.

"Bucky!" Steve calls out as he races over, gravel sliding underfoot. 

"Buck, stop! Just stop. What's wrong? Talk to me," Steve implores, reaching out with one hand to grab at Bucky's arm, trying to pull him to a stop, trying to pull him back around to face Steve. 

* * *

The night air is cool against Bucky's skin and it's a welcome change from the warmth of the fire in the cabin. Actually, just moving seems to help pacify the snarling animal in his chest. He knows that Steve's following because of course the idiot couldn't let him have a minute (moment) alone. No surprise, really. Bucky doesn't want to be behaving like this, he doesn't want to be making a scene, but it seems like now is one of those times where life is deciding to look past what he wants. 

He's disappointed that the kissing had stopped and Bucky knows that it's all his fault. Bucky had liked the kissing, the feel of Steve's hands on his skin and in his hair. He wants more of it, but he knows that won't be happening right now, not when he's agitated and just had stormed out. Tender kissing isn't on the menu.

Bucky has no real plan in leaving, he just knows he needs to move and _do_ something. He's striding away from the familiar cabin, from Steve, with nothing in sight but there's trees in the distance and that seems like a good enough destination. Steve calls out and Bucky ignores him but then that's no longer an option because Steve's hand is grabbing at his arm.

It's instinctual. Bucky whips around and his metal fist swings at Steve's face. Steve dodges and Bucky's throwing another punch again because his frustration apparently craves an outlet and Steve happens to be an available target. 

Steve blocks the punch and Bucky seethes, his metal arm falling back to his side as he _tries_ to stay still. He doesn't actually _want _to fight Steve. "I told you I needed a moment! What are you doin'? Gotta make sure I'm not broken? Well, too late, pal."

Bucky knows that he's being unreasonable. His fists clench and he stares down at his feet. Sam had claimed that he had lost the threatening presence while only wearing socks, but he's not so certain. 

* * *

Just as it's instinctual for Bucky to whip around the second that Steve grabs his arm, it's instinctual for Steve to immediately duck out of the way of the metal fist suddenly flying towards his face. His heart leaps in an odd sort of panic and for a second, Steve wonders if Bucky has regressed, if he's dealing with the Winter Soldier again despite all of Shuri's assurances. Steve no longer has his shield, no longer has anything but his own hands to defend himself with, and the Winter Soldier had always been brutally lethal.

Steve blocks the second punch by crossing his arms in front of his face, instinctive more than anything, and he wrenches himself back a few steps, breathing hard. He's already set to go, already half-turning away to get into a properly defensive stance when Steve catches a glimpse of Bucky's expression in the moonlight. It's gentle, anguished, tense, and he doesn't know if the knowledge that it had been _Bucky_ who had attacked him makes it worse, or if it makes it a lot better.

Bucky looks furious, but it's a different kind of fury. The Winter Soldier had been cold and merciless, his expression made of ice and steel, but _this _is all fire and desperation and pain, and the difference is like a breath of fresh air. Steve's still breathing hard, still wary, his arms still raised, but that this is _Bucky_ means a lot more to him.

"I didn't want you to hurt yourself, Buck," Steve says softly, his voice careful, like the one he'd used once while trying to calm a spooked horse when he'd visited his uncle way back when. Steve eyes Bucky's clenched fists and then slowly holds his own hands up in surrender, taking a small step back. "I don't know what you 'needing a moment' means out here. Didn't want you getting yourself lost."

Steve looks at Bucky, at his open frustration, at his uncertainty and something in his chest breaks, just a little. He swallows. 

"Look, pal. You're not broken. And if you _are_, that means we're both broken. Tell me how I can help. What do you need?"

* * *

The kissing, the touching... it had been nice, like a soft, warm cocoon and Bucky feels like it could have gone on forever. It should have gone on forever. It could have gone on longer, at least, but Steve had noticed him not touching with his metal hand and Steve couldn't let that slide. Of course Steve had to speak up. It's not shocking, definitely not out of the ordinary for Steve Rogers even and Bucky had... Bucky had what?

Panicked? Felt too much, too fast? He can't even pinpoint what the problem is and even if he could, would he be able to fix it? He's taken two swings at Steve for no good reason. Bucky's going to go with a resounding _no._ Shame curdles in his belly because he's fucking tired of fighting but his body seems primed for it still. Yeah, if Steve woke up tomorrow and handed him a gun and said there was another enemy or war, Bucky knows he'd go march to it. How could he not? It seems like the only thing he's good at since becoming 'free'. He's so used to being a soldier.

But Bucky still means it - _until the end of the line _\- and he'd been to that line already. He'd died, faded into fucking _nothing, _and it's pretty difficult to believe in permanence after that fact. He's supposed to believe that they're both really here and fine and that peace and quiet is somehow attainable and lasting? A bitter part of his brain wants to call it bullshit because nothing _good _seems to last... but Steve is good and Steve has lasted.

It's when Steve's hands raise in clear surrender and he takes a step _back _that Bucky looks up because he doesn't want Steve creating more space between them - more distance. The fight drains out of him, the roiling frustration dying down. Bucky's jaw clenches and he forces his hands to relax, his fingers straightening out. There's no enemy other than his own demons. Steve just wants to help, Steve who claims to be broken too and maybe they both are, Bucky doesn't know. 

"Maybe just call it a night," Bucky answers finally. "You can tell Sam that I'm staying." With that, he steps over to Steve. He wants to apologize. To give him another kiss even. But instead, he grasps Steve's shoulder like the old Bucky would have done. "I'll be okay."


	3. Chapter 3

It feels uncomfortably like failure even after Steve and Bucky have parted ways in order to go to bed. Every step that Steve had taken had felt like one more he was taking _away_ from Bucky, and it's just a confusing, alarming mess. Once, a lifetime ago, Steve could have just touched Bucky's arm and eventually managed to drill through his bravado and crap to get at what had been bothering him, or he'd have been able to push it beyond a near-fight outside. 

Bucky had never raised a hand to him back then. That he had outside isn't alarming, but what he'd _said_... that's another matter entirely.

Steve does wind up calling Sam after getting in bed, because despite everything else, he does need to tell Sam not to come in the morning. He means for it to be a quick conversation, and Sam _does_ congratulate him on getting Bucky to stay. But there must be something in his voice despite his attempts to keep it masked, because there's a long, telling pause and then Sam's tone changes.

"You wanna talk about it?"

Steve frowns. He doesn't like being so obvious, but Sam's good like that. Sam's always been observant. "Things are just... complicated, is all. Got a little rough."

"Man, _complicated_ is like a tagline for you both. If it wasn't complicated, I'd be worried. You okay?"

"Yeah." Steve sighs. "Yeah, just had a bit of a setback is all."

"Yeah, those happen. Doesn't make them suck any less though. You'll pull through, Rogers. Just give it time. Be patient. And if you need me to come on down there for a bit of a powwow to knock some sense into you two, you just let me know."

It's enough, oddly. The stress of the last few hours doesn't leave, but Steve feels something a little more comfortable settle in his chest. He smiles, thinking of Bucky, thinking of Sam, and some of the tension eases. 

"Will do, Sam. And... thanks."

"Anytime, man."

Sleep doesn't really come _easy_ to Steve, but after so much history, he doubts it ever really will. He does manage to sleep mostly through the night, though. And when the first rays of brighter light fall over his face in the early dawn of the next day, Steve feels something settle in his chest, something that feels almost like the calm before a mission.

He makes breakfast. Eggs, buttered toast, and coffee. It takes him a bit because while Steve might be a captain in the army, he's not a captain in the kitchen. But he'd made this same thing so many times back before the war that this _is_ something he knows how to do right. He only hopes that it'll do as a peace offering after the fiasco last night. 

* * *

Bucky lies in the bed that he's spent the last few nights sleeping in, but sleep doesn't come to him now. His mind is warring between thinking of how it had felt kissing Steve (and Steve kissing him in return) and then that disappointed exhausted look that had been on Steve's face when they'd gone their separate ways. The worst part is that he knows Steve isn't blaming _him_. Nope, Steve is blaming himself, likely going over the entire situation in his head and believing that he could or should have done something different.

And as soon as Bucky focuses just a little too long on recalling the feel of Steve's mouth or fingers in his hair, he's shifting in bed, his cock taking blatant interest and yeah, he's done this - he could do it now - there's a box is Kleenex or a sock to be used for clean up. He could think about Steve's warm hands traveling under his clothes and over his skin. Bucky could think about Steve's mouth kissing _other_ parts of his body, Steve's eyes staring at him with a heat that Bucky recognizes--

But his hand remains still. He takes deep breaths, willing his arousal to diminish because _now_ definitely doesn't feel like an appropriate time to masturbate to thoughts of Steve while Steve is beating himself up in the other room.

So Bucky doesn't move and his jaw clenches and he tries to think of how he's going to apologize and make it up to Steve tomorrow. Briefly he wonders if Steve would actually change his mind and have Sam--

No. Steve wouldn't.

He hears the soft muffled voice of Steve from the other room but he quickly reins his suspicion in because there's no other voice, at least not on this end. So, a phone call. Probably to Sam. To change the plans. Makes sense.

Bucky dozes for a few hours and it's only after he hears Steve up and puttering in the kitchen that Bucky grabs at his phone and hits the call button for Sam. He does throw the blanket over him to help muffle the sound. 

As soon as the call is picked up Bucky is exclaiming in a hissed voice, "I kissed him!"

"And? Was it good?" Sam asks, not even sounding surprised. Bucky wonders if Steve had said anything.

"Yeah. It _was_ good, and then I freaked and I left..."

"Uh huh. _And_?" Sam prompts.

"And then I hit him. I fucking _hit_ _him_, Sam!" Bucky sighs at the memory, disgusted with himself.

"That's nothing he ain't used to, man. Steve's a big boy, I _know_ for a fact that he's okay," is what Sam comes back with. 

"That's not the point. He probably thought I was going all Winter Soldier again." Because who wouldn't? Steve had witnessed that before. Finding him - Bucky - in the apartment and then the Soldier busting out of the containment cell and wreaking havoc.

"Were you?"

"No," Bucky says with a frown. "You know I'm better."

"Then he does too. Look, you're still there. He still wants you there. Today's a new day. So stop hiding out in your room and go make something happen."

A beat. "_Fine_." Bucky throws off the blanket.

"Fine. And you're welcome," Sam adds on.

"Thanks."

He ends the call and instead of dressing and trying to cover up his nasty shoulder, Bucky makes the conscious decision to go out in his boxers alone because he remembers that they used to be a time when they'd never been self-conscious around each other and he wants that again. No time like the present to start working toward that.

"Smells good," Bucky says in greeting as he walks into the kitchen and looks at what Steve has been up to, all the while trying to not feel strange about his lack of clothing in comparison to Steve.

* * *

The hiss and spit of oil in the pan means that Steve doesn't actually hear that Bucky is even awake until he hears footsteps coming down the stairs. By then, breakfast is more or less ready and Steve reaches over, turning the flame off of the stove and hastily plating the eggs up. He's _determined_ to do this right, especially after last night. Maybe he hadn't been able to drag Bucky back away from the edge the night before, but Steve's not going to let that define them.

He's not dressed to the nines, but he never is these days. He's only wearing a grey t-shirt and jeans that still feel a little odd even years later, and he's not wearing any socks. It's boring, but Steve's not trying to look put together. He's _trying_ to look approachable, like there's nothing threatening about him. Nothing that Bucky needs to be up in arms about anymore. Steve isn't looking to stress him out more.

Bucky's voice draws Steve out of his musings and Steve immediately turns. He's about to tell Bucky that he'll have the coffee ready in a second. He's about to tell Bucky good morning, and maybe apologize because Steve still feels the guilt clawing at his throat. He never should have let Bucky just go to bed, not without talking with him. Not without trying to understand.

And then Steve actually looks, actually _sees_ Bucky, and his thoughts and concerns immediately fizzle out. Steve stands there, stunned, because Bucky is... Bucky is only in his boxers. 

Steve stares, his mouth open in surprise, and it's like a rush all at once. He remembers this Bucky - all the freckles and how his nipples tighten in the cold, and the precise angle of his clavicle. He remembers his long legs, strong, and the arches of his feet. 

But that's not everything. He stares at new, tighter muscles and hates the twist in his stomach, because he knows how Bucky acquired them. And perhaps to Steve's credit, it's the metal arm and the subsequent scarring that Steve notices last. 

"Buck," Steve breathes, clearly a little taken aback. He stares for a beat longer and his eyes rake quickly over the extensive scarring at Bucky's shoulder, but aside from a frown at how it must have gotten there, Steve doesn't show any disapproval. He's too smart for that. This... he doesn't know if it had been a test, or a memory, or a hope, but he's not going to make Bucky feel like he's anything less than who he is.

"I--... sorry, coffee's almost ready. You can get a start on your plate, though. You sleep okay?"

* * *

Back in hot, humid summers, it wasn't unheard of for them to strip down to their shorts and undershirts and make crinkled accordion fans out of newspaper. They'd take turns fanning each other, but Bucky would always make sure Steve's 'shift' didn't go as long because he didn't want the shrimp to overdo it (and Steve had loved trying to overdo things). Or when Steve had been shivering and burning up, Bucky had helped peel sweaty clothing off of him. 

In the war, modesty wasn't much of a thing either. Steve had seen him nearly naked countless times after he'd wring out his shirt in a river or needed to be patched up. Back then they'd existed in each other's personal space so easily and effortlessly. They'd grown up through skinned knees and puberty together. Morita had called them two oversized peas in a pod...

The point is, him being only in plain white cotton boxers isn't a big deal... At least, it shouldn't be, but Bucky's a little self-conscious about his arm. Because for too long, it had been more of a weapon than a part of him. 

Steve's casual wear does what Steve had intended it to do - Steve looks comfy and approachable, like what one would wear spending a lazy day at home and Bucky thinks that that's what they've actually been doing here.

It's pretty damn obvious that Steve hadn't been expecting him to only be wearing underwear. Steve's eyes look him over and Bucky sees an appreciation there. It's a look he's seen from women in the past, but not Steve, at least not so blatantly. Bucky feels a familiar thrill in his chest from the attention and Steve may check out the shoulder, but he doesn't linger or look disgusted by it. Bucky thinks this was a good idea.

Taking Sam's words to heart, Bucky knows how he _used_ to try and make amends, so he turns to Steve, his plate forgotten for now. He steps into Steve's personal space, his flesh hand reaching out, fingers curling in the collar of Steve's shirt as he angles himself with the intention of pinning the blond against the counter. 

"And what if I'd rather get a start on _you_?" Bucky asks softly, clearly flirting. "You're also delicious." 

While the 'moves' may be familiar, he's never been like this with Steve, but they gotta start somewhere and just having Steve still here and cooking breakfast for them is apparently enough to get Bucky interested.

* * *

Once, Steve never would have dared to look at Bucky like he does. He might have wanted to, might have let himself look a second too long on those hot days, might have felt a little twist in his chest whenever Bucky would bring a dame home, but it hadn't been done in those days. Steve still can't believe that it's done nowadays, but he's spoken to people who've confirmed it for him. He's seen the evidence. It might not be fully accepted everywhere, but it's not what it once was. It's _okay_ now. But that doesn't mean that Steve doesn't make himself look away out of reflex.

They'd kissed the night before but Steve still wants to be careful. Yes, they'd kissed. He'd held Bucky's face in his hands and kissed him so sweetly that Steve's heart had hurt, but it had resulted in Bucky getting overloaded. It had resulted in a fight, in Sam needing to set Steve's head back on straight.

So he tries to steer things to safer waters. He tries to turn his attention to food and to the coffee brewing, onto _safe_ topics. But before he so much as manages to reach for Bucky's plate, Steve sees movement in his peripheral vision and when he turns back, Bucky is _there_. Steve tenses a little in surprise, but then Bucky's hand is gripping his shirt and Steve's hip hits the counter behind him and he doesn't even know when he'd taken a step back. 

His pulse is quick in his chest, but even that has nothing on the _lines_ that Bucky says. Steve looks at him, his eyes wide, his mouth open, his breathing a little quicker. He can see Bucky's hand moving in time with his breaths and for one long, uncertain moment, Steve looks at Bucky with open confusion. Because... he _remembers_ that tone, but it had never been directed at him before.

"Are you... are you gettin' _sweet _on me, Buck?" Steve asks incredulously, half like he isn't sure if this is a joke, and half like he's genuinely receptive. Steve doesn't understand the change from last night to this, but one thought does cross his mind. 

"If... if this is about what happened last night, you don't have anything to make up for. I mean if it's _not_, I'm not complaining."

* * *

Bucky is interested, his body somehow steps ahead because he's barely done anything other than inserting himself into Steve's personal space and clutched onto his shirt. His boxers already feel tighter. Maybe this wouldn't be the case if he had masturbated last night or this morning, but that's neither here nor there. 

Steve has let himself be subtly positioned against the counter and yeah, Bucky likes those wider surprised eyes that are on him, Steve's parted lips-- the quickened respirations that Bucky can pick out. He's caused this, he's the _reason _for Steve's responses. This feels less careful, less guarded, but is he rocking the boat now? (Will they fall?)

Sure, there is also some confusion, but Steve's half-teasing line about him getting _sweet _seems more positive than not. But could Steve leave it there? No. Steve has to go on and mention _last night_... And yeah, maybe a part of Bucky feels like he has to make up for it, but Bucky's not fixated on whatever last night happened to be (something soft spiraling out of control, tumbling out of his hands). 

Sam had encouraged him to do something and this is what he's doing. This is what he _wants _to do. Arousal gives him boldness.

"And what if I am gettin' sweet on you, Rogers?" Bucky asks. 

The distance between them diminishes as he steps closer, his body pressing against Steve's. Like this, Steve can easily feel that he's hard but Bucky isn't embarrassed. Steve's body is warm and what he wants to be against. Bucky's metal hand reaches behind them and he grasps the counter while he wraps his other arm around Steve's lower back. 

* * *

The eggs are forgotten. Hell, most things are forgotten as Bucky steps in closer to Steve. In a way, this still feels like Steve has missed something, like maybe Bucky is pushing himself to go further because of the mishap from last night, but Steve doesn't have any proof. Besides, he's still a little surprised to see Bucky nearly-naked. So Steve doesn't react negatively as Bucky steps in closer. He just watches, still caught off guard, still trying to make sense of the tonal shift from soft, careful kissing, to open attacks outside, to... _this_.

Then Steve feels Bucky step in closer, feels the full press of Bucky's body along his front, and Steve suddenly feels his stomach all but leap down into his toes and then shoot up somewhere around his throat. Bucky's arm wraps around him, but it's not Bucky's _arm_ that Steve can feel pressing against him, and the shock of understanding gives way to a sudden, almost dizzying heat of what that actually _means_.

"_God_, Buck, is that-- are you--" Steve tries a few times, but the words won't come. Steve feels a little like his heart is going to beat right out of his chest. 

He suddenly remembers guilty, stolen moments in his bed back in their apartment in Brooklyn, trying to be quiet, his hand down his shorts, guilt twisting through his chest because no, _no_, he shouldn't have been thinking about his best friend like that. He shouldn't have been _encouraging_\--

But this isn't a humid, cold apartment in Brooklyn. They aren't those men anymore. The _world_ isn't the same as it was. Steve lets out a harsher, stunned exhale and swallows thickly. 

"Never... thought you'd be putting your moves on _me_," Steve says, and despite the suddenly charged moment, he manages a small smile. "I'm not complaining."

* * *

Back when Steve's wrists were delicate, his fingers slender and collarbones pronounced, there had been a few stray thoughts in Bucky's mind as to how Steve would have sounded or felt if the scrawny blond been in the place of whatever current lady that Bucky had been getting more familiar with. Bucky hadn't let himself fixate on that because even with Steve's full mouth and long eyelashes, Steve was a man.

But Steve is now bigger than him - stronger than him - and has been for a while. Bucky doesn't know if that _means _anything - if it should change something in how he conducts himself like this. Given his state of arousal, it's difficult to think all too clearly about shoulds and shouldn'ts. Steve is warmth and well, _Steve_, and Bucky wants with something fierce in inside of himself. He has no great plan, but hearing Steve struggle with his words is somehow gratifying. 

It's because of _him_ \- Bucky's done this to Steve, got his tongue all tied.

_'I'm not complaining.'_

Bucky smiles, huffing an amused sound against Steve's neck. "Yeah, you already said that," he remarks, voice fond. 

His arm squeezes around Steve's midriff. It's difficult to know what direction to take in this. All Bucky knows is that he _wants_. He wants _Steve_. So he leans in and begins kissing at Steve's neck. A moment later and he's grinding his erection against Steve because it's instinctual. He groans tightly, wondering just where this is going to go.

* * *

Steve blinks when Bucky cuts in, smiling a smile that makes something flutter in his chest like butterflies, as ridiculous as that sounds. He pauses, thinking back, because... he hadn't said that already, had he? Oh, God, yes he had. Steve feels a flush steal across his cheeks and begin to creep down his neck and he feels decidedly thrown and off balance. This isn't really a situation that he'd ever expected himself to be in. 

He'd thought about it before, a long time ago, in the guilty moments when Bucky hadn't been looking at him directly, when it had been safe to think and long and stare, but only in the back of his mind, never directly conscious. 

Now that it's happening, now that Steve actually feels the warmth of Bucky's lips touch his throat, and the rough, alien scratch of stubble over his skin, he doesn't know how to respond. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, where to look, whether to reciprocate or just stand there, because despite how good it feels to have Bucky's arm around him and his lips kissing, Steve remembers last night. He doesn't want to set Bucky off again, doesn't want to do something to scare him away.

Then Bucky rolls his hips and heat flares so hotly in Steve's body that he lets out a soft, startled, embarrassing sound that he immediately wishes he could take back. He draws in a deep breath, trying to center himself, but there's no disguising the way that the slow roll of Bucky's hips is starting to affect him. Steve feels heat gather low as he starts to respond, and it's almost a shock to feel how quickly he's getting hard. Steve's not been celibate all these years, but he's never been one to respond immediately. He's always been too in his own head.

Except now, apparently. Steve finally sets one of his hands on the counter behind him, the other lifting tentatively to Bucky's metal shoulder, careful around the scars. 

"Is this--... are you sure? That this is okay? You're good?"

* * *

Need and urgency are beginning to boom in his skull and Bucky tries to ignore it, tries to stay focused and not let himself get overwhelmed because he doesn't want another repeat of last night. Bucky's never really done anything with a man before. In the Army, a pretty French man had jerked him off with dry dirty hands, but Bucky hadn't done anything back. He'd laid there, pencil-straight, eyes tightly closed and lips pressed together as to not make any sound. It hadn't been anything special. He'd felt disconnected and slightly sick to his stomach even.

Him pushing his cock against Steve causes Steve to make the most delicious sound that goes right back to his own dick. Bucky shudders, wanting to hear more, wanting to be the only reason that Steve would ever make these types of sounds. He wants so much but it's all directionless. When Bucky feels an answering hardness he finds himself caught off guard. His mouth stills, his breathing harsher. It makes sense - Steve getting aroused too - it's just something that he's never felt before.

But it's good. It's good... It's fine...

Steve's hand lifts and comes to rest on his shoulder, but it's the juncture where the metal meets flesh so the touch is almost jarring because it's dull in areas. It bothers Bucky and he almost shrugs Steve's hand off, but he resists. Guilt bubbles up when Steve tries to check in with him because he's started this and Steve's done nothing wrong. Despite the growing unease, Bucky's erection doesn't wane. It's persistent and he _wantsneeds_\--

Bucky gives a frustrated sigh because suddenly the situation feels like it's getting away from him again. 

"Shit," Bucky curses and impatience rears its head. He feels like a jerk, suddenly drawing back and his hand is reaching to grab at Steve's. Bucky grasps Steve's wrist, pulling Steve's hand down in between them. He pushes Steve's palm against his trapped cock. 

"Can you-- _please_?" He asks, eyes imploring Steve.

* * *

It's a funny little impulse, the dual desire that suddenly rears its head when Bucky must feel Steve getting hard too. The want and the fear. Steve _wants_ with a ferocity that honestly catches him off guard and scares him at the same time. It's a lot all at once, to go from careful kissing to _this_, and Steve doesn't know how many steps he's missed. 

He hadn't prepared for this, for anything beyond _Bucky. _All he wanted had been to make Bucky feel at home, to _keep_ him in the cabin. Steve hadn't thought beyond that despite his desires, and now... now he's not prepared. 

Because Bucky is a good ten steps ahead of him, his skin bare and warm and his muscles hard as he presses Steve back against the counter. His body is familiar but also alien, but not _only_ because of Bucky. Steve had learned a long time ago where he'd fit against his friend, how his shoulder had just barely been high enough to fit under the curve of Bucky's arm, how his hands fit against the small of Bucky's back whenever they saw fit to hug. 

But this is... different now. _Steve_ is different, because they don't fit together the same way. Steve doesn't know what to do with his hands, and he's honestly not paying attention to where he puts them. 

His mind just helpfully tells him that there's _miles_ of bare skin and old holdups about being polite throw Steve off his game. Not that he's ever really _had_ one. He tries not to touch bare skin without permission even if Bucky is making that impossible. So Steve touches where he does, his dick hardening, and for a few long seconds, all he can think about is _heat_ and _skin_ and _Bucky_\--

And then Bucky curses and Steve tenses, expecting the worst. What he's _not_ expecting is Bucky reaching up to take hold of his wrist. Steve freezes, watching in a sort of numb shock as Bucky takes Steve's hand and moves it down, down between them, until Steve's palm suddenly presses against the hot, hard outline of Bucky's cock through his shorts. Steve drags in a rough, ragged breath of undiluted arousal and he feels a wave of heat race through him. 

A part of him wants to slow it down, to talk, to _ask, _but then Bucky is looking at him, eyes imploring, and Steve feels that old ache in his chest. He nods before he's decided to, and then decides that he doesn't care about his own uncertainty.

"Yeah. Yeah, Bucky. Of course," Steve breathes. He moves his hand a little firmer to the outline in Bucky's underwear, pressing there and curling his fingers under his own power, not Bucky's insistence. "You want-- you want me to directly, or... or over the clothes?"

* * *

It almost feels like an out of body experience because, yeah, he's just taken Steve's hand and relocated it to his crotch and over his clothed erection, but these actions aren't practiced or familiar - at least not with Steve. Last night their kissing and touching had been soft and slow and tender and _now_? Now Bucky doesn't even know what to call it? It's desperation. Maybe even _pathetic _desperation on his end. 

And Bucky isn't feeling great about this either because Steve deserves more (always has), but Bucky _wants. _And there's something terrible and selfish within him for him to move Steve's hand and _then _ask. Because Bucky knows that all he had to do was ask to begin with and Steve would jump to it, eager and enthusiastic to help, because Steve doesn't want him to suffer in anything, including in this.

He doesn't know what he's done to deserve such devotion and Bucky doesn't even want to try and understand it. At least not right now. Just from Steve's breathing Bucky knows that the guy is surprised but also into this - into him like this - and Bucky doesn't know if he's relieved and if he is, should he be? It's terrifying in a way to have to ask and then wait for an answer (even if he knows what that answer will be), but Steve eventually gets his mouth working and responds.

And agrees, and then tries to figure out what's supposedly allowed or whatever and Bucky gives a small snort of impatience. 

"Honestly? I just want to get off, Steve," Bucky first answers tightly and his hand lets go of Steve's wrist. "But this is fine. Just like this." Bucky thinks this is safer to have Steve's hand over his shorts. He hasn't freaked out with it at least. Bucky tips his head forward, resting it against the crook of Steve's neck as he rolls his hips forward in encouragement.

* * *

Steve isn't thinking about what he does or doesn't deserve, about what Bucky should or shouldn't be offering him right now. All he's thinking about is the moment, is _Bucky_, is the way that Bucky's dick feels hot through his shorts, the way that Bucky's body feels warm through Steve's thin t-shirt, where they're pressed together. Steve doesn't care about what the _right_ thing to do here is, because if Bucky is asking him to do this - or telling him to, all things considered - of course he's going to do it.

Yes, it's... a lot. Steve had barely gotten used to the idea of how Bucky's stubble had felt against his face the night before, so this is a huge jump, but he doesn't care. He's always adapted before, and he will now, and so as Bucky gives a small indication of impatience, Steve does his best to shove down his own uncertainty. He nods, and while he's still shaken, and still aroused at the idea of this, he doesn't keep pressing.

Steve remembers what had happened the night before, when he'd tried to push. He's not going to have a repeat of that if he can help it.

So he lets Bucky nestle in against him, lets Bucky rock his hips, and while it's awkward to figure out a rhythm without being able to touch, Steve manages. He soon finds a good angle for his hand (even if it feels backwards, his brain trying to tell him to turn his hand around because that's what he's always done) and then, with Bucky pressed to his chest, Steve exhales softly and begins to move his hand.

He strokes along the length of Bucky's clothed dick, fingers touching, palm firm, and while he starts tentatively, it doesn't take him long to gain a little confidence. Steve swallows, going by feel alone, but it doesn't stop him from wrapping his free arm around Bucky's shoulder- his flesh shoulder - and holding him closer, Steve's nose buried in against Bucky's hair.

"Yeah, okay. I got you, Buck," Steve says, his pulse pounding in his throat. "I got you."

* * *

While Bucky's of course been touched like this before - and even by a man - this is something else entirely. It's because, right now, it's Steve against the counter and Steve's hand resting over the hard bulge in his shorts. It's Steve's warmth and body that Bucky presses against, seeking both pleasure and comfort. 

Steve and him have actually touched a lot over these last few days - friendly, comforting touches like a hand on an arm squeezing in assurance or their knees or thighs touching, but it's not been like _this_, not been sexual and... intimate? Is this even intimate? Either way, Steve deserves better, real intimacy, something _more _than Bucky's able to give him right now, but Bucky isn't going to stop. 

He can't. He doesn't want back up, doesn't want to lift his head off of Steve and move away. There's been too much distance between them, too much space, and Bucky hates it.

A hand moves - _Steve's_ hand - fingers and palm touching along the line of his cock and pleasure surges through Bucky. Steve's feeling him out, learning this, and Bucky wonders if Steve's ever done this before (to someone else). It's something he might ask about later. 

There's a lot of Steve's life that he doesn't know (but wants to find out - just give him time). Bucky shudders as Steve's touch grows more insistent and an arm wraps around him. Steve pulls him closer. There's safety in this - right now with Steve - and Bucky takes in a shaky breath. His eyes close as he tries to process the mix of pleasure and closeness. 

Steve's words wash over him and Bucky shudders. He tries to choke back whatever emotions threaten to come up - emotions that he can't even label - because they need to stay down and stay stuck in his throat. Bucky's hips push against Steve's hand, the pleasure curls with shame and something else, maybe even more than a something, because life hasn't been simple for Bucky, but he doesn't want to get lost in trying to untangle the twisting knots. (He can't, because what if he's lost again?)

His metal fingers grasp tightly onto the counter behind them, his other arm wrapping around Steve as they practically cling onto each other. All Bucky can do is groan out Steve's name, the sound muffled against Steve's neck.

* * *

How many nights had Steve guiltily thought about this all those years ago? Long nights trying to steal some time for himself in their apartment, terrified that Bucky would walk in, or wind up hearing him through the thin walls. Too many to count, though he'd always felt uncomfortable with it back then, steeped in guilt and shame, with the knowledge that it hadn't been _right_. Back then, he'd never have let himself imagine, drilling it into his head that Bucky liked _dames_, that Bucky saw him like a brother, and Steve would have been fine with that. Truly. He _had_ been, because even having Bucky close had been enough.

Now, though, feeling Bucky pressed all along his front, with Bucky's arm a vice around his back and his own arm clutching Bucky close enough to ache, Steve can't pretend that this doesn't matter, that it's not monumental. He doesn't feel ready for this sudden spike in intimacy, not after last night. But it's _Bucky_. 

Bucky's breath hot on his shoulder, Bucky's arm wound around him, Bucky's voice making Steve feel impossibly hot. It might be going from one to eighty in less than 24 hours, but _Bucky_ had pushed for it. Bucky had asked him, had said _please_, and Steve can't turn that down. He doesn't want to.

So he doesn't stop. He feels the lance of arousal claw through him when Bucky begins to rock his hips and Steve feels the weight and size and feel of Bucky's dick against his palm. It makes him feel hotter, seems to draw his attention solely to this moment as he holds Bucky tighter, his touch careful, coaxing. He breathes in the growing scent of sex on the air, feeling the counter dig painfully against his back as Bucky pushes him against it, but Steve doesn't care. He even hears the faintest _crack_ behind him, undoubtedly Bucky's hand cracking the counter a bit but he doesn't stop.

Steve moves his hand, rubs insistently over Bucky's underwear. He feels the radiating heat not just from that point but from _everywhere_, feels the painful ache of his own cock, but Steve only has eyes for Bucky. His lips press to the top of Bucky's head as he holds him. And that sensation - holding _Bucky_, because _Steve_ is the bigger one now - is so... impossible to quantify. Steve kisses the top of Bucky's head, focused on only this. 

"That's it. It's all right," Steve breathes into Bucky's hair, sounding somehow just as wrecked despite not having been touched in the same way. "Let me do this for you. It's okay."

* * *

Fear and uncertainty are nothing new to Bucky. He'd been afraid of Steve gettin' too sick, afraid while in the war and bombs were falling, afraid of dying on Zola's table delirious and alone, afraid of never seeing Steve again--

And then Bucky had been uncertain about this new bigger Steve, uncertain about Captain America and if Steve even needed him anymore, uncertain whether or not he still belonged next to Steve, uncertain about zip-lining to a train that held Zola--

But he'd followed Steve, followed that little guy from Brooklyn who never backed down from a fight and Steve may be in a different body, but Bucky knows that Steve's still Steve. Muscles, weight and physical ability haven't irrevocably changed anything. Health is more important than physical looks and Steve has his health now and Bucky's so relieved. He still believes that Steve had deserved that idyllic happy ending with Peggy Carter because Steve had worked so hard and she'd been a great lady...

But that's in the past and Steve's here, choosing _him_, allowing _him_ to be this needy and pushy and Bucky wants to tell Steve to smarten up because it had been clear enough that Steve was a little overwhelmed by this sudden jump but he's still trying to go with it because it's something Bucky wants (needs?). Steve's too good for him, but Bucky is selfish here. He's not giving it up.

Bucky distantly is aware that he needs to lessen his grip on the counter - he could break it - but he can't get his hand to relinquish it's staggering hold. His grip remains and Steve remains touching him, his hand firm, rubbing and encouraging him to get closer and closer to spilling in his shorts. Bucky feels Steve kiss the top of his head and he trembles. He both wants this to last longer and be over. It's a strange realization to have. It's intense and sharp, but Steve is warm--

It's Steve's assurance, Steve's comfort that, oddly enough, pushes him over the edge and Bucky is shuddering with an almost pained groan as he cock spurts against his boxers, soiling them underneath Steve's hand. He's breathing hard, shaking against Steve, his mouth kissing at Steve's neck amidst his own panted out breaths. 

* * *

Yes, it's too much, but the last thing that Steve is ever going to do is to tell Bucky _no_ in this regard. Bucky, who already thinks of himself as some sort of monster, who already has such a hard time asking for _anything_. Steve never wants to make Bucky feel like he can't rely on Steve, can't come to him if he needs something, even if it's _this_. 

Even if they've barely kissed yet. Even if Bucky had tried to attack him last night because he'd been too overwhelmed by a kiss. It doesn't matter; Steve always wants to be there for Bucky, never wants to leave him behind ever again. 

So as Bucky begins to shake, as he rolls his hips and Steve becomes very acquainted with how heavy and perfect Bucky's clothed cock feels under his hand, Steve holds him tighter. He doesn't back down, doesn't do anything except what feels like the right thing to do. He holds Bucky close, holds him tighter when he begins to tremble, and he whispers his soft reassurances into Bucky's hair. 

Steve doesn't know if that's what does it - it feels like it, in a way. One moment he's holding Bucky close and the next he suddenly feels the body in his arms shudder, viscerally. Steve breathes out hard as he feels a sudden wetness against his palm, feels Bucky's dick twitch under his hand, and then Bucky is groaning loud and breathing hard and Steve all but crushes Bucky to his chest, biting back the sound he wants to make as he rubs Bucky through it. 

Yet even as Steve keeps going, even as he holds Bucky close, he's aware that he'd just heard Bucky come, had just _seen_ him come against him, had been the _cause_ of it, and Steve can't pretend that he's not painfully hard. That this isn't the hottest thing that's ever happened to him.

But he doesn't push. Instead he closes his eyes when he feels Bucky kissing at his neck, and then he reaches up with his free hand. He cups Bucky's cheek, easing his face up just a bit, and Steve kisses his forehead, his cheeks, peppering small kisses over Bucky's skin because he can, and because he feels like Bucky might need it. He wraps his other arm around Bucky, keeps him close, and tries to catch his own breath between kisses.

"Easy, easy, Bucky. You're okay," Steve soothes softly. "So good, pal. _So_ perfect."

* * *

He's just--

They've just--

Steve's--

It's a lot to take in, a lot to process, but any potential anxiety is currently fuzzy and quieted by the pleasure that washes over Bucky. Steve's still sturdy and warm, holding him close and Bucky thinks he's holding Steve too, but it's hard to differentiate right now. 

Yeah, Steve's hand had touched him over his shorts and Bucky had rocked into that touch, seeking it out, hungry and Bucky had eventually orgasmed. The evidence is there - sticky and wet - against his dick and the fabric. It feels like a shameful thing and it's now that Bucky realizes that Sam hadn't probably meant for him to go this far. Bucky doesn't even know if _he_ had meant to go this far. This new opportunity, this new chance with Steve, it's uncharted but it somehow pulls him in and gives Bucky false confidence that he'd clung to.

He's not an idiot. He knows that soft kissing to _this _is like skipping a dozen or so steps in between. Bucky can feel that Steve's hard too and it's such a curious sensation, to feel another's hardness pressed into him (because of him, for him?). His stomach feels uneasy or maybe it's his chest-- It's difficult to pinpoint because yeah, he wants Steve, but Bucky's not sure how to go about it. He's not sure what to do and he hates feeling lost, hates feeling broken.

Not that Steve is pushing for anything. Steve just eases his face up with a hand and Steve's kissing him everywhere. Bucky shudders as his metal hand lets go of the counter and Bucky stands there, unmoving, directionless. Steve's mouth is so soft, his breath puffs against his skin. 

_'So good, pal. So perfect.'_

"Don't," Bucky says, voice smaller and distant. "Don't say that."

* * *

There's nothing that Steve wants more in that moment than to kiss Bucky's skin. His face, his forehead, his neck. He knows instinctively that if he doesn't do _something_, he's going to explode, or at least it feels like it. Steve's hard, yes, and a part of him _does_ want to reach down and adjust himself at the very least, but he doesn't. There's a build-up of energy in his chest, sharper and hotter, and he doesn't think that Bucky could handle it if he pushed, if he guided Bucky's hand down between _his_ legs.

It's not about being hard. It's about intensity. And as Steve stands there, kissing Bucky's face, he feels Bucky's muscles begin to go lax. At first he thinks it's in relaxation, in that hazy feeling after orgasm. Then he takes in the way that Bucky's keeping his head in one position, the way that Bucky's muscles might be lax, but are also still immobile. All it takes is that slight realization for Steve to change his mind. 

Bucky isn't relaxed. He's directionless, and when Bucky responds, his voice small and absent, Steve's kisses slow to a few presses before he draws back.

He doesn't draw back a _lot_. Just enough to say that he had, and when he looks down at Bucky, there's a frown on Steve's lips, something hesitant, perhaps a little wary. He remembers last night with a sudden sharpness, the way that Bucky had all but recoiled from Steve's care. Now, looking down at him, listening to Bucky's soft request, Steve isn't so sure he _should_ trust his instincts.

He _wants_ to repeat himself, wants to cup Bucky's face in his hands and kiss him until he stops thinking he's _not_ perfect. But he also doesn't want to push Bucky to an overwhelming point again, doesn't want him to lash out or fight back. 

"Why?" Steve asks, because it seems safer to ask than to push, to _insist_ that Bucky listen to him. "Why don't you want me to? Buck, you didn't do anything wrong..."

* * *

There are a few more kisses until Steve pulls back to get a better look at him. Steve's desperately trying to figure out what's gone wrong or how to fix him or this... Bucky sees care and concern in those blue eyes that he doesn't deserve (and he knows that Steve would argue otherwise 'til he's blue in the face). 

A stubborn part in his brain is telling him to just go reach out and jerk Steve off - to return the favor. It's not rocket science. He has a dick, Steve has a dick, and Steve's aroused and Bucky could take care of it by rubbing through Steve's jeans or his boxers or maybe even underneath the layers... It's doable, the steps are there in his mind--

His right hand would drop down and he'd cup the impressive hardness found at Steve's crotch. Bucky would then grin and say something like, '_looks like someone's into me..._' and it'd be a gentle tease. He thinks Steve would like it a bit playful (hadn't he started like that?). Bucky's hand would move, just a little pressure, just to acclimatize Steve to it. He'd smile and if he was feeling bold he'd add a, '_you say pretty please and I'll treat ya really good...'_

But that isn't happening now. Bucky's boxers are clinging to him, the warmth of his orgasm steadily being replaced by other cooler things and Steve is here with his imploring, serious eyes and Bucky doesn't know what his own face is doing. Looking stricken maybe? Stressed? Uncertain? It's something ugly that Steve doesn't deserve, especially after Steve touched and got him off. There is the urge to run, to seek an escape from an uncomfortable situation, but Bucky's body isn't moving, so he forces his head to work, for him to try and think of an answer. Words not actions...

Besides, he can't have Steve chasing after him. There's really no escape for Bucky. This is living - saying things and having to deal with the consequences immediately.

"Because..." he starts, wetting his lips and casting his eyes down, focusing on Steve's shoulder. Bucky then purposely exhales slowly and he moves to pull away from Steve but he's gentle about it, careful to make it known that he's just relocating and not running. 

Bucky slides in next to Steve, leaning against the counter, their shoulders touching. It feels important to still be touching. "It _wasn't _perfect. Should have been... Better. Different. It goes different in my head, Steve." 

* * *

Steve knows that he could push the matter even if he is still a little stunned that this has happened. He's still stronger even if that seems almost callous to point it out at this current moment, but Steve still knows that it's true. Bucky looks lost, looks almost disconnected, and when Steve really takes a moment to look at him - to read the uncertainty in his eyes and the flood of emotion that doesn't seem to be able to make its way out - he frowns. 

He has the odd urge to kiss Bucky again, to do whatever he can think of to make Bucky feel less overwhelmed and alone. He looks so lost that Steve feels the ache of it deep in his chest, and when Bucky begins to pull away, Steve instinctively tightens his hold. His frown deepens, and he's all set to pull Bucky back in, to insist that he stay, but Bucky slows down. He seems to realize where Steve's mind is going and while the thought of Bucky pulling away still makes Steve feel rough, Steve's worry eases just a bit. 

His own cock is hard, yeah, but it's already starting to go down. Thoughts of reciprocation and Bucky touching him are suddenly less important and Steve just watches as Bucky draws back and then moves to lean against the counter. The fact that Bucky doesn't run means a lot, and Steve feels some of the tension ease out of his shoulders at the knowledge that Bucky isn't going to leave the way he did last night. Steve watches him quietly, waiting, and when Bucky finally speaks, Steve frowns. 

"You didn't do anything wrong," Steve reiterates. "I mean it. I don't... I don't know how it was in your head, but this was what I wanted it to be. Getting to watch you, to be responsible for... for making you feel good? That was perfect, Buck. To me." 

* * *

It's obvious enough that Steve doesn't _want_ him to create this distance between them. Bucky doesn't think he exactly wants it either, but it feels a little necessary. The dark, wet spot on his boxers is so obvious - so incriminating - but nothing can be done about it now. Bucky needs to go back to his room and change, a shower would be a good idea too, but he knows that won't be happening. 'Cause Bucky's gotta be responsible here, gotta man up and deal with whatever this is.

No running, no hiding. Steve won't let him and Bucky's sure that it's a good thing - that it speaks of Steve's dedication and commitment to him - but it _also_ feels like it could be a chain or a leash holding him back and some part of Bucky wants to viciously fight against a restraint because he knows what those _used_ to bring--

The smells of a waiting breakfast distract Bucky and he has the realization that he's hungry _and_ looking forward to what Steve's made for them. He doesn't think he's necessarily wrecked this morning, but the antics of his chosen lack of clothes had brought this unplanned sexual experience - their first real foray into it. It feels disjointed to Bucky, but Steve claims that it was perfect _to him _and Bucky doesn't think he gets to fight that. 

He doesn't respond immediately and Bucky wonders if the silence is charged for Steve, if Steve is tempted to do something or speak up again. For Bucky, he's trying to sort out his thoughts or at least push away the uncertainty and shame because logically he knows that Steve is into him _like that _and Steve had--

"You didn't just go along with it to take the path of least resistance, did you?" Bucky asks. Because he's gotta know.

* * *

The silence isn't so much 'charged' for Steve as it is slightly worrying. The thing is... once, Steve would have been able to read Bucky at a glance. He could have taken one look at Bucky's face, at his posture, at the look in his eyes, and _known_ what the problem was, or if there even _was_ a problem. He could have touched Bucky's shoulder and smiled and joked his way through a potentially-awkward conversation, and it would have been _fine_. They would have gotten through it together.

The _problem_ is that Steve doesn't know Bucky like that anymore. The look of concentration on Bucky's face is shielded, almost guarded, and Steve doesn't know what that means. One day he will, because he's not giving up on Bucky. Never again. But he doesn't _know_ him like that and so for that long pause, he actually is concerned over what Bucky is going to say.

And what he winds up saying is... difficult. 

On one hand, Steve knows that he'd wanted this. He's not doubting it. He'd _wanted_ to watch Bucky fall apart. He'd wanted to make Bucky feel good. But when Bucky asks his question, Steve is also faced with the unpleasant realization that... he actually _had_ gone along with it. At least at first.

He frowns, and only hopes that Bucky's forgotten what he looks like when he's feeling guilty. Steve lifts his chin.

"I... just... hear me out first. But... at first, a little. Less that I was choosing the path of least resistance, and more because you... uh. You surprised me. I didn't want to make you feel like you were doing something wrong. Because you _didn't_ do anything wrong," Steve adds, just shy of fiercely. 

He reaches over carefully and touches Bucky's flesh shoulder. 

"It kind of... happened fast, all at once. It was a lot. But before you go and beat yourself up over it, I _wanted_ to make you feel good. I just... don't have the experience you do. In--in general, I mean. Not with fellas."

* * *

Maybe it's not a fair question. Actually Bucky's pretty sure that it's not, but hasn't life proven that it's not fair? Life hasn't been fair to him _or_ Steve but Bucky knows that it doesn't do any good to focus on that. What's done is done, all they can do is live now. He doesn't like the _victim_ label - the very word sounds like shit to him. He doesn't want it to fit him, so Bucky tries to not think of himself like that and he doesn't want Steve to feel bad for him. Nothing sounds worse than that, for Steve to have gone along with it because of pity or an attempt to appease him.

But Bucky is aware of how he'd acted and what he'd said... He'd came onto Steve, his chest all but puffed out and flirty words sliding off his tongue as if he could actually handle and manage something like that, something _mutual. _Bucky does want that. Bucky wants so much, all of it, all of the touching and love and friendship and romance and sex, every possible thing he could maybe have with Steve.

Wanting so much but not having an idea how to get there, being without a roadmap? It sucks. It's what gets twisted up inside, his fingers fidgeting, his mouth not saying the right things. He has a feeling that his own patience is going to be tested versus Steve's.

Luckily for Steve, Bucky isn't looking at him after he asks his unfair question. Maybe he's being a coward because he doesn't want to see Steve's face. He probably is, but Bucky's trying to work through things, to find some measure of okayness after what he'd just done. 

So he does hear Steve out and he doesn't interrupt. Steve's answer is probably what Bucky should have expected, but maybe it's nice to hear it. His muscles relax from the reassurance but it's Steve's last comments that has Bucky turning to look at the man next to him. 

"Not as if I've had any _recent_ experience, buddy," Bucky says, more lighthearted. "Barely none with a man either. Just once. In the war. Before, you know, it all got crazy." He means encountering HYDRA and Zola and then Captain America. "And just... His hand." 

It seems important to be up front about this kind of thing.

* * *

Maybe it says something that Steve's first impulse is to try and keep Bucky from panicking, but given what had happened the night before, he doesn't think it's a bad idea to be cautious. While he's much better than he had been before... everything, there's still a mess in Bucky's head, one that Sam is probably more equipped to deal with, even if the thought leaves a sour taste in Steve's mouth (which in turn makes him feel even worse, because Steve _likes_ Sam). 

Steve can temper it, can guess, but when it comes down to it, there are experiences that Bucky's had that Steve will never have, and experiences that Steve has had that Bucky thankfully won't need to live through.

It makes situations like this difficult, though, because Steve desperately wants to know the right things to say. He's still a little shaken, still stunned that they'd gone _that_ far as quickly as they had, but he doesn't regret it and he hopes beyond hope that that comes across in his voice when he answers. 

Something must register because Bucky does look at him, and it's only the feeling of Bucky's muscles suddenly relaxing under Steve's hand that really makes Steve feel a little less nervous.

The lighthearted tone that Bucky uses is like a cool balm to Steve's senses. Some of the tension bleeds from his own shoulders, and while he does smile a little in acknowledgement, Steve doesn't interrupt. Bucky had given him the benefit of his silence, and Steve returns the favor. 

Still. Steve doesn't miss what that _means_. 'His hand'. Bucky likely hadn't returned the favor there, or if he had, he might not remember. Steve squashes the small voice of jealousy in the back of his mind because it doesn't have a place. Instead, he nods, acknowledging the importance of what Bucky had said.

"Well. You just felt the extent of _my_ experience. So... we're both starting near square one. I don't mind," Steve says, and half-turns back to the plate he'd set out for Bucky before. 

He hesitates for a second, then picks it up and pointedly holds it out to Bucky. It's both a peace offering, and a sort of proof that Steve isn't going to push Bucky to return the favor. 

"Thanks for telling me, though. We'll figure it out together, yeah? Just you and me."


End file.
